Supplementary Angles
by Zathara001
Summary: Sequel to Complementary Angles. What happens after stopping Magneto?
1. Chapter 1

Welcome back to the Angles universe! If you haven't read the prior Angles story, this one won't make much sense. The prior story, Complementary Angles, can be found on this site. I tried to provide a link, but the coding didn't carry through.

As always, the X-Men and related characters don't belong to me. I'm just continuing to have a bit of fun with them. I hope you enjoy it.

- X - X - X - X -

The hail of shrapnel had barely settled outside the Bradbury Building before Scott Summers spoke. "Jean, link us -- X-Men and the team leaders."

Jean was already striding toward the body of Erik Lensherr, Magneto, but Scott felt the shallow presence of the others in his mind almost immediately. Jean wouldn't do a deep link for this, just enough that they could communicate quickly. _Good work, everyone. I'm guessing we have about ten minutes, if that, before the media descends._

_We need to clear out before they get here,_ Sushi, leader of the team of Navy SEALs, said. _Can't be having our faces broadcast on national news._

_International,_ Scott corrected automatically. There was no way this event wouldn't make international news. _Phoenix, if anyone gets here sooner, can you keep them from focusing on the SEAL and Delta teams?_ She sent a terse affirmative, distracted by her examination of the body, and Scott continued, _All right, then -- Injuries?_

Incredibly, no one was hurt badly. He and Jean had suffered small cuts from their march into the whirlwind of metal Magneto had summoned. Peter was covered with bruises from the fight he'd had while depowered. Three or four men from the Delta and SEAL teams had suffered various cuts -- one had even been nicked by a bullet from God knew where. Overall, it was much less than they'd had any right to expect when they started this mission.

_Very good._ He couldn't help the pride that filled the words. _All right, then -- Sushi, Redneck, get your men out of here, back to the landing point. Your judgment whether to wait for us or get out and send the transport back._ He sensed their acknowledgment, and told Jean to drop them from the link.

_We should clear outta here, too, Cyke,_ Logan said. _Like you said, media'll be here any minute._

_I know. I'm going to talk to them._ Shock reverberated through the link that joined them, and he continued, _This is an opportunity, and I'm seizing it._

_What kinda opportunity?_ Of course the challenge came from Logan.

_To get our views across without having to fight,_ Scott told them. He knew Jean sensed there was more to it than he was saying, also knew none of the others were sensitive or skilled enough to detect it. _We're heroes, X-Men. People will listen to us now._

Logan's mental snort expressed his opinion. _Not forever._

_We don't need forever,_ Scott countered.

_What about the school?_ Ororo asked. _Can it stand the publicity? Can the students?_

_Kitty, soon as you can, register a domain and set me up an email account for it._

_No problem,_ Kitty responded easily. _Cyclops at X-Men dot com it is._

He'd have to do something nice for Kitty, Scott decided. Her flippant response broke the tension that had been building since he'd announced his intention to talk to the media. _Then__ that's the contact information I'll give them. This means big changes, to the team and the school, and we need to discuss them._

_Make it quick,_ Logan said. _I hear choppers and vans approaching._

_Can't discuss it thoroughly before they get here, even in mindlink,_ Scott said. _So we'll have a meeting tomorrow after we've rested and debriefed._

He felt their acknowledgments, and said, "Good work today. All of you."

Jean took his spoken words as a cue to drop the link, and he didn't overrule her. The others needed time to sort out their own reactions and possibly to get out of the immediate line of sight of camera crews. He didn't have that luxury, and he strode toward the arriving vehicles.

- X -

Magneto was dead.

The woman whom he'd named Polaris but had been born Lorna Dane stared at the television in her hotel room in Parkfield, California, the awful truth blaring in blue and yellow letters on the bottom of the screen while the talking heads who claimed to be reporters yammered to fill time.

She didn't want to believe it, changed channels out of some desperate wish that the news was wrong, that somehow, he'd survived. But no, every station showed the same clip over and over, a body being loaded onto an ambulance and taken away from the Bradbury Building in Los Angeles.

Her grandfather was dead. Lorna wanted to scream, to rage, but the walls of the motel were thin, and as much as she wanted to scream, she wanted to be left alone more. So she screamed in silence, tears flowing down her cheeks and blurring her view of the screen.

She'd never talk to him again, never play with metal with him again... He was the only one who'd understood her power, welcomed it. Now she was alone. For long moments, she heard nothing but her own harsh sobs. Finally, she staggered into the bathroom and grabbed handfuls of tissue to dry her eyes and blow her nose.

"We understand that a group called the X-Men are responsible for this," she heard one of the talking heads saying. X-Men? She recognized the name, of course, Grandpa Erik had been with them for a while, until they chose the weaker path. He'd left them to do what was necessary, and they'd retreated to their ivory tower of a school. And yet, now they were involved in this? She had to see.

She came back to the bedroom, focused once again on the screen as the current talking head continued, "We're going live to Cassandra Dallmeyer and Cyclops, leader of the X-Men."

"Thanks, Jim," the new talking head said. "And thank you, Cyclops, for taking the time to answer questions. The most important is, what happened?"

The camera shifted to Cyclops, and though his eyes were covered by some kind of visor, black with a red lens, Lorna couldn't help feeling that she'd seen him before. Probably a result of Grandpa talking about them, she told herself.

"That's a long story, Ms. Dallmeyer," Cyclops said, and even his voice sounded familiar. "The important part is that we -- the X-Men -- stand ready to assist when the need arises. We were at Alcatraz, and now we're here."

"We don't need more mutant vigilantes," Dallmeyer said.

"You're absolutely right," Cyclops said, politely ignoring Dallmeyer's stunned expression when he did. She obviously hadn't expected him to agree. "Which is why the X-Men have been in talks with the government about just what role we'll play in such situations. We were authorized to help at Alcatraz, and we were ordered to come to Los Angeles."

Lorna's fists clenched, and anger roared so loudly in her ears that she didn't hear whatever was said next. The X-Men had killed her grandfather.

Dallmeyer simply stared at Cyclops, and when she had no question, Cyclops spoke again, filling the momentary dead air. "We hope, of course, that our services won't be needed in this kind of situation, and we stand ready to assist any time our abilities may help."

This kind of situation? Killing her grandfather -- who'd been a friend and teacher to them, even to Cyclops -- was a situation? Anger flooded her, and her fists clenched. She'd give him a situation, one that mirrored her own. He'd hurt, even as she hurt.

Grandpa Erik would demand nothing less.

She'd need help, though. She wasn't stupid enough to think her own powers would stand against the combined might of the X-Men if her grandfather and those he'd had around him hadn't been up to the task. But who?

She clicked off the television in the middle of another talking head's stupid question, considering. She knew some of her grandfather's subordinates were in prison after Alcatraz, and more would join them after today's events -- but none of them were powerful enough to stand against the X-Men, either.

There was only one answer -- she'd have to call the Hellfire Club.

- X -

For the first time in Scott's memory, the entire team had already gathered when he walked into the conference room, Jean at his side, and the bond she'd established between them the night before quietly humming at the back of his mind.

They'd returned from the mission, and he'd helped her grieve what they'd had to do to Magneto, and then she'd joined their minds together with his joyful consent. Now, she was always with him, and he with her.

_They're nervous,_ she told him, and through that bond, he sensed an echo of what she felt.

_They should be,_ he answered as she found a seat and he took his place at the front of the room. _This is something Charles never planned for._

Charles himself sat near the rear of the room, more an observer than a participant. Scott nodded to him, acknowledging the change in status, and waited for the first question.

It came, as he'd suspected it would, from Ororo. "What were you thinking, talking to those reporters yesterday?"

"You knew it was coming," Logan told her before Scott could answer. "What he said after Alkali Lake -- heroes don't hide."

"There's a difference between not hiding and putting our name up in neon," Ororo shot back. "And you've exposed the students to all that media attention --"

"I didn't mention the school," Scott said. "I gave the X-Men contact address Kitty created. That's where we start -- but the school might have some exposure down the road. And I'm not certain that's a bad thing."

Ororo was about to protest, but Charles spoke before she formed the words. "Nor am I."

That drew all eyes to him, and Scott suspected he'd intended exactly that.

"But, Professor," Ororo said, "the students will be distracted by all the media attention."

"For a time," Charles agreed, "but Scott's tactic will also help the school be known as a place of refuge for mutants who need it."

"Refuge? The school's already been attacked once because of the X-Men," Ororo said. "Can we put the students at more risk?"

"We're at risk just because we're mutants," Scott declared, pulling attention back to him. "But the increased publicity can help protect the school, too."

"How's that?" Ororo looked dubious. Logan and Jean nodded, and Scott suspected they'd picked up on his thought. Peter and Kitty looked interested and curious and Bobby -- well, it was good the conference room didn't have windows, Scott thought, or else he'd be staring out them.

"When Stryker attacked, we had no recourse," Scott explained. "But think if we'd been nationally known -- Stryker would've thought twice before attacking us, and there would've been massive media repercussions."

"Do you think parents will want their children at this school, knowing it could be attacked at any time?" Ororo demanded.

"Better here where there are people who can protect them than on the street where there's not," Logan said with a shrug.

"It's a valid concern," Scott said. "And while right now it's impractical to completely separate the school and the team, we can take some steps in that direction."

"Like what?" Peter asked, stepping in for the first time.

"Like hiring more staff just to teach, freeing me, Jean, and Logan for more team activities -- although Jean can remain as school physician." He raised one eyebrow, and she nodded agreement.

"We don't have room for more staff," Ororo said.

"We do if Logan, Jean, and I move out of the mansion. The boathouse and the caretaker's cottage are sitting empty."

"They need work," Charles said. "The caretaker's cottage has been abandoned for decades, and the boathouse hasn't seen use in about as long."

Scott couldn't help grinning. "We've got a telekinetic and a guy who can bench press a semi if he wants. I think we can manage to clear them out." The others chuckled, and he continued, "It means you'll be taking on more of the school duties, Ro. I won't have time."

She nodded, her expression still stiff, but he saw the excitement in her eyes. Her heart had always been more with the school than with the team, and he was glad they finally had the resources to allow her to indulge that passion.

"I'll be available if the team needs me," she said.

"I know," Scott assured her. "I'm hoping we won't."

"Would be a change of pace," Logan muttered.

Scott didn't bother to glare at him -- it would be a wasted effort. "You and I will teach one class each, Logan."

That drew a snort. "What'm I gonna teach?"

"Phys ed?" Jean suggested. Scott barely glanced at her. She'd picked up his idea and decided the suggestion might go over better if it came from her instead of him. She was probably correct, too, he thought ruefully.

_You know I am,_ she sent. _You two will never be easy with each other._

_No, but at least we're not trying to kill each other,_ he sent back. Then, noting Logan's thoughtful expression, he said aloud, "That's not a bad idea."

Logan shrugged. "I'll give it a shot. No guarantees how good I'll be, though."

"Fair enough," Scott said. "And I thought you might take the caretaker's cottage. The boathouse is closer to the mansion, so Jean can get here faster if she's needed medically."

"Makes sense," Logan agreed.

"Any questions or comments about the separation?" Scott asked. The others shook their heads, and he said, "All right. Next up is the full debriefing. Logan and I will report to the Joint Chiefs tomorrow, and they'll want a full report."

- X -

Two hours later, Scott walked hand-in-hand with Jean toward the boathouse.

"Too bad you have to leave again," he said.

"You know I've been scheduled for this conference for a year," Jean reminded him. "Most of it will probably be dull, but there might be something useful. Besides, you're going to Washington tomorrow, so we would've been apart anyway."

"But I'll be back for dinner. You won't be back for four days."

She squeezed his hand. "I'm never more than a thought away."

"And I'm going to take advantage of that, believe me." He wiggled his eyebrows at her in the best lascivious manner he had. Given her laughter, both mental and physical, he suspected his best wasn't very good.

The door to the boathouse swung open as they drew closer.

"Showoff," Scott teased.

"Hey, you volunteered me to clean it out. I might as well do something fun before then."

"How long before you have to leave?"

"An hour before I have to pack."

Scott shook his head. "Not nearly enough time for real fun. But maybe time to talk a bit?"

"Always." They stepped inside the boathouse and with a thought, Jean had opened the coverings on the windows to let the late morning sun stream in. He felt her mind still as she studied the space. "We could decorate it like a loft," she said after a moment. "Areas, rather than separate rooms."

"After we build in a floor, that'll do for a start," Scott agreed.

"Start?" She turned to face him, and he felt the link she'd established deepen.

"It's going to be a real pain surprising you for your birthday now," he grumbled.

"I'll be a good girl and wait for you to say what's on your mind," she let the link fade to its normal strength. "This time, anyway."

"It makes more sense to raise the roof and build in a second story than try to build in a floor over the water."

Jean considered that for a moment, and nodded. "Temperature and insulation, sure. And less chance of snakes or frogs moving in."

Scott pointed to the far corner. "I thought we'd build a partition wall there, so we can have a private bedroom."

"This isn't private enough?"

"It is for now. But it won't be when we have kids." He felt her surprise through the link. "We've talked about it before."

"I know, and I want to, but -- now?"

"If we wait until we make the world safe for democracy and mutants, we'll wait forever." He slid his arms around her from behind, rested his chin on her shoulder. "I don't want to wait forever."

She relaxed into his embrace with a soft exhale. "I don't want to wait forever, either." She turned her head to brush his lips with hers. "I do want to wait until we're married."

"Then we go shopping for rings when you're back from your conference." He kissed her neck. "You already said yes, after all."

"A moment of pure insanity on my part." She arched her neck toward him. "Thought you said it wasn't enough time for real fun."

"Guess we'll have to settle for fake fun. You're going to be gone three whole days… fake fun's better than no fun." He turned her in his arms and covered her mouth with his.


	2. Chapter 2

"You don't want me to walk through that." Logan gestured at the metal detector at the Pentagon.

"Why not?" the MP on duty demanded. In his blazer and slacks, Logan knew he looked just like any of the other civilians stationed at the Pentagon. Appearances were deceiving.

"He'll set it off," Scott explained. "Just like my glasses did."

"Empty your pockets and remove your belt, sir," the sergeant said.

"Did that," Logan replied. "That's not the issue. The issue is these." He held out one hand and extended his claws. "Got matching sets," he added casually as one of the other MPs reached for his gun.

"Easy," Scott said in a tone he might use to soothe a spooked animal. "You got used to my glasses, you'll get used to his claws."

The MPs huddled together, talking, and Logan retracted his claws. "They always like that?" he asked Scott.

"It's their job," Scott replied.

Logan grimaced and shoved his hands in his pockets. His first visit to the Pentagon wasn't starting off well. And it was just the first of many, given his new position as Scott's second in command of the X-Men.

"We'll have to do a pat-down search," the sergeant in charge of the MPs told him.

He held his arms out to his sides. "Just don't get fresh."

From the corner of his eye, he watched Scott struggle not to laugh while the sergeant frisked him thoroughly. Despite the term, the sergeant didn't pat so much as slide his hands down Logan's sides, arms, and legs.

Eventually, they decided to let him through. Scott had simply shown his badge, the one with a picture of him wearing the ruby quartz glasses he no longer needed to contain his power.

"Is it gonna be like this every time?" Logan asked Scott as they turned down one of the wide corridors in the Pentagon.

"We'll request a badge for you," Scott replied. "Or you'll get used to being frisked."

"Not my idea of fun." He adjusted his step to slip behind Scott as a one-star general and several colonels approached, taking up most of the corridor. The four men had so much fruit salad on their chests that Logan half expected to see them listing left.

The general glanced at them, and his glance became a gape. Logan scowled back -- hadn't he seen mutants before? Then the general paused, and Logan sensed the unease trickling through his entourage.

"Sir?" Scott asked, ever polite. "Is there a problem?"

The general -- Heath, according to his nametag -- frowned at Logan. Even at somewhere close to sixty, Heath was military straight and nearly of a height with Logan. "Have we met?"

"Not that I remember," Logan answered. It was the literal truth. He'd recovered fragments of memories, sensations and feelings more than anything else, since he'd joined the X-Men, but he had no sense of having seen or scented General Heath before.

"It was a long time ago," Heath said. "You can't be --"

"Can't be what?" Logan asked.

Heath smiled, just a little. "You remind me of someone I served with in 'Nam. Striking resemblance, in fact, I thought you were him for a moment."

"Sorry to disappoint," Logan said.

"He'd be pushing seventy by now, if he's still alive," Heath said. "Helluva soldier, though, saved our entire unit almost single-handedly." Then he frowned. "You do look like him. Your name wouldn't be Logan, would it?"

Logan felt his mouth go dry. "Yeah."

"Son or nephew, maybe," Heath mused. "James Logan. Know him?"

"Can't say that I do." But his pulse was racing. Was this a clue to his identity? James Logan. He rolled the name over in his mind. Could be worse.

"Huh." Heath appeared nonplussed. "Look just like him."

"They say everybody's got a double," Logan managed.

Heath nodded. "I suppose so." Then he looked around, realized that Scott waited nearby. "Carry on, gentlemen."

"Logan?" Scott asked quietly once the general's party had gone on its way.

He shoved the encounter to the back of his mind through force of will. "Yeah. Let's go. Can't keep the brass waiting."

- X -

"Jean!"

Jean Grey smiled and turned into a bear hug from William Grandey, feeling the surprise and amusement from other nearby attendees at the International Conference on Genetics and Evolutionary Methods. Open affection was rare among them, but she'd known William for almost ten years and frequently his presence was the only thing that made these conferences bearable.

"Tell me you're presenting," William said. "Please. I might die of boredom if you're not."

"Not this year, William." She stepped back from his hug, startled as always by the flash of white teeth in his black face. She'd thought they were veneers until someone else had asked for the name of his cosmetic dentist, and he'd said, "God."

"Too bad." William led her toward the back of the conference lounge, where coffee and pastry service had been set up. "Anything you said would be far more entertaining than listening to Katz and Horowitz go on and on and on about swarm intelligence."

"But even that's more interesting than artificial life forms," Jean countered. She was one of the few people who could tolerate William, she knew. His gregariousness and brilliance that bordered on arrogance made for a grating combination. But she'd scanned him when she first met him, and found simple lack of social grace, nothing mean. She'd found in him a good friend, and was thankful that her power enabled her to look past the surface.

William grunted and examined the pastries with a practiced eye while Jean poured herself a cup of coffee.

"Here." He handed her a small paper plate covered by an over-sized cherry Danish. "That's fruit, right? Healthy."

"It might have pretended to be fruit in a past life." She'd have to find a place to put the pastry down and "forget" it.

"Grandey, there you are." The new speaker had British tones as cultured as Charles's own. "I should've known to look at the pastry table first."

"Better the pastry table in the morning than the bar at night," Grandey retorted, and shook the hand of the newcomer, a tall lean man with dark hair and a mustache. "Jean, I have the dubious honor of introducing you to Trevor Fitzroy, who's been working out of MIT on an exchange from Cambridge and is one of the program directors for the conference this year. Trevor, Jean Grey. Gave up a good position at Columbia to do research for a private institution. Our loss."

"Pleased to meet you." Jean balanced the pastry on top of her cup of coffee and extended her hand. She could easily tip the pastry onto the floor with her telekinesis, but then William would just get her another one.

Fitzroy regarded her with shrewd eyes. "Grey -- you testified before the Senate a few months ago, yes?"

"I did. Not my best day, I'm afraid."

"Nonsense," Fitzroy said. "You presented your case well, but Senator Kelly had a knack for grandstanding. In fact, I wonder if you might do us a favor?"

Jean blinked, unable to conceal her surprise. "Favor? I'm sure I don't know what I can help with."

"I realize this is an imposition, and quite sudden," Fitzroy said, "but our keynote speaker has withdrawn from the conference rather unexpectedly, and we've been scrambling to find someone who might replace her. I understand you and she were pursuing similar research not long ago."

"I'm embarrassed to say I haven't even looked at the program," Jean said. She hadn't had time, not between suppression and control serums, Alcatraz, and Los Angeles. "Who was your speaker?"

"Kavita Rao, of Worthington Laboratories. She was going to speak on the cure they developed." Fitzroy poured hot water over an English Breakfast teabag. "How disappointing that she allowed recent events to dissuade her from attending."

"Understandable," Grandey countered. "And maybe we should thank her for not turning this conference into a media circus."

Jean took a bite of the Danish, more to buy time to collect her thoughts than because she actually wanted the too-sweet treat. She'd touched Kavita Rao's mind briefly on her visit to the Worthington Laboratories facility on Alcatraz Island, and she had no doubt that Rao had backed out of the conference more out of fear for her own safety than fear of turning the event into a media circus. She couldn't tell the others that without explaining how she knew, which would lead to a string of questions she didn't particularly want to answer.

"Will you, Dr. Grey?" Fitzroy asked.

"Unless you have a draft of her speech, I can't speak about her research," Jean said once she'd swallowed.

"Unfortunately, no, we don't," Fitzroy said. His expression showed real regret, but he wasn't broadcasting much. "Perhaps it was too much to ask --"

"I could do something a little different," Jean offered. "I could explore the ethics of that serum."

"Hm… that might be interesting, indeed, Dr. Grey," Fitzroy looked thoughtful. "Certainly it would be a change of pace from most of the panels."

"I'd love to lead a round table discussion, but I think we have too many people for that," Jean said. "So instead I'll just raise a few issues, toss some questions around. It's not my job to tell people what to think, but perhaps I can invite them to think."

"I can raise counterpoints, if you want to really challenge them," William offered. "I was captain of the debating team as an undergrad."

"Only if you can keep it civil," Fitzroy said. "And if Dr. Grey agrees."

"It's up to you, Jean," William said.

"Why don't we have dinner and discuss it?" Jean suggested, and turned back to Fitzroy. "Does that suit?"

Fitzroy gave a small nod. "It will certainly be interesting. Thank you for agreeing on such short notice."

"You're very welcome, Dr. Fitzroy. I'm looking forward to it."

"As am I, Dr. Grey. As am I." With a nod to each of them, he was gone.

"Your young man didn't happen to come with you this time, did he?" William asked once Fitzroy was safely out of earshot.

"No, not this time. He's busy with his own job. Why do you ask?"

"No reason," William answered. "Just a gut reaction that doesn't like Fitzroy and never has."

- X -

Logan tugged off his tie as he and Scott left the Pentagon. Scott had insisted he wear a tie, but Logan drew the line at a three-piece suit like Scott wore. "Still hate working with the military."

"We couldn't have overthrown Magneto without their help."

"That kind of help never comes without a price, Cyke. You ready to pay it?"

"Do you have a better idea?"

"No." He hated to admit it, but it was simply true. It had taken X-Men and human special forces working together to defeat Magneto after he'd ripped a good chunk of California away from the mainland and tried to set it up as a mutant haven.

"I'm not totally thrilled, either," Scott said as they climbed into the car that would take them to Joint Base Anacostia-Bolling-Naval Research Laboratory where they'd left the Blackbird. He lowered his voice so the driver would have no chance of hearing him. "So we're going to set up some other training scenarios. Including special forces with cure weapons."

Logan nodded. "Mix it up, don't get lazy or routine."

"And remember they can turn against us at any time."

"Puts the kids at risk." Logan cocked an eyebrow at him. "That's why you're moving the team away from the mansion. Spread out the target area."

Scott nodded. "And a better chance at a pincer move for counterattack. You're better at sneaky than Jean and I are, so the cottage made sense for you."

Logan considered that. "The cottage -- northeast of the mansion half a mile or so?"

"That's the one." The car rolled to a stop and Scott and Logan climbed out and started toward the Blackbird waiting on the tarmac. "It also means you could have your own fridge and stock it with beer." Sometimes Scott wasn't a dick.

He secured the hatch while Scott powered up the engines. He'd been grateful for the shelter when he and Marie had first arrived at the school, but sleeping in a mansion full of mutants, most of whom were adolescents full of spirit and just learning to control their powers meant the mansion was never entirely quiet.

"How much work will it take to make either place livable?" Logan settled into the co-pilot's seat and secured his seat belt.

"It depends on your definition of livable." Scott eased the Blackbird straight up, thanks to its VTOL engines. "The cottage is in a bit worse shape than the boathouse -- less use the last dozen years or so -- but the walls are structurally sound. Not sure about the roof, though."

Logan shrugged. "However bad it is, I've slept in worse. I'll move into it in the next day or so, soon as we clear the debris."

"And sometime in all of that, we need to get you started on those flying lessons," Scott banked the Blackbird northwest. "Peter, Bobby, and Kitty, too, but they're coming up on end of term and finals, and they've already missed a lot of school thanks to Alcatraz and Los Angeles."

"I thought they were already accepted to college."

"They are. Kitty and Bobby are off to MIT, and Peter's going to CUNY College of Staten Island."

"So what if they blow their finals? They already got what they need."

"In Kitty's case, she needs to keep her grades up for her scholarship," Scott told him. "Bobby -- needs the practice in studying, honestly."

"Think it'll be a problem, the kids so far away? We might need 'em."

"Not that far," Scott said. "Only about two hours by car to Staten Island, four to Cambridge. No time at all for the Blackbird."

"I can just see it now," Logan muttered. "Please excuse Kitty from her physics exam. She had to go fight a mutant trying to take over the country."

"I hope not," Scott said fervently. "I hope they can get through school with no troubles, other than Marie being jealous because Bobby and Kitty are at the same school."

"What about Marie?" Logan asked. "She graduating, too?"

Scott shook his head. "Those nine months she spent hitchhiking across Canada cost her. I'd let her graduate, myself, and spend the summer in an intense remedial session, but Ororo and Charles outvoted me."

Logan raised an eyebrow. "Team leader got outvoted?"

"School issue, not a team issue."

Logan shook his head. "Separating them won't be easy."

"No, it won't. But as Dad always says, nothing worth doing is ever easy."

"Can't decide whether he's smart or just a smartass."

Scott gave him a good-natured scowl. "Just for that, you lead the workout tomorrow."

"Not one of those kill-house exercises like we did when the SEALs came up to train?"

"I'll be nice and let you pick the workout."

Logan grinned. "This should be fun. I won't hurt you. Much."


	3. Chapter 3

Logan grinned to himself at the puzzled expressions on the faces of all the X-Men but Scott as they filed into the Danger Room. With Jean out of town and Ororo stepping back to an ad-hoc status, he faced Scott, Peter, Bobby, and Kitty. It still gnawed at him that Marie had chosen to leave the team, but that was her decision to make, and she seemed happy with it.

Still, it meant only four to one odds. He'd hoped for a real workout, but this wasn't likely to be it.

"So what's going on?" Bobby asked, glancing around. The holographic projection grid that lined walls, floor, and ceiling was dark, so the room looked like any other sterile windowless room.

Scott shrugged. "Logan's running the workout today."

His grin broke through when he heard Bobby's low groan. Enhanced senses could be a blessing as well as a curse. "I do things old school," he said. "No fancy illusions, no manufactured robot monsters."

Kitty hmphed and looked away from him. She'd taken far too much pleasure in writing that particular program, and he couldn't resist teasing her about it sometimes.

"What, then?" Peter asked. His expression almost mirrored Scott's -- cautious interest.

"Blindfighting," Logan answered, then showed his teeth in a feral grin. "Powerless blindfighting. Means no night-vision visor, either," he added to Scott, who nodded and tucked the visor he wore into a pocket on the back of his uniform.

"I'm thinking robot monsters would be more fun," Bobby muttered.

"We were caught by power-null beams in Los Angeles," Logan reminded him. "Which Kitty and Storm destroyed before anyone got a good look at them. That doesn't mean someone else won't have something like it. Gotta be ready for every eventuality, right, Cyke?"

"Absolutely," Scott said. Unlike the younger X-Men, he looked almost eager for the workout. "We'll be doing more of this kind of training, so get used to it." He looked at Logan. "Don't I remember hearing something about a dark room exercise where two men are inside, each trying to find and disable the other?"

"Sounds like something Special Forces would do," Logan said, unwilling to admit that he didn't know anything about such an exercise. "Today you have the advantage -- alla you against me."

"Four to one odds?" Bobby sounded interested for the first time. "If we win, you buy us pizza tonight."

"You said powerless," Kitty said. "But your power's always on. You can hear or scent every move we make."

"Very good," Logan pulled a pair of foam earplugs from his pocket. "These'll dull my hearing down to about normal. Inhale."

Kitty frowned, then breathed in deeply. "Ammonia?"

"Pungent enough to baffle my nose," Logan said, shoving the earplugs in his ears.

"I could've brought my aftershave," Scott quipped.

"Ammonia smells better," Logan shot back. Scott grinned and the others laughed. While they were still laughing, he said, "Lights."

The room went black, and Logan heard three startled yelps -- three, not four. One female, Kitty. One male, loud, Bobby. One male, quieter, Peter. Scott stayed silent.

Logan slid one foot back, shifted, and repeated the move. Now he was about five feet away from where he had been, and he waited, still, breathing slow and steady through his nose, though the ammonia hurt with each inhale.

A shuffling, barely audible through the foam earplugs, ahead of him and off to his left. Kitty and Bobby had been standing there, and he smiled as he heard Bobby's whispered, "Got you."

"Touch me there again and I'll stick you in a wall," came Kitty's low reply.

Logan felt the air currents shift and sensed more than saw a bulky form coming at him from the blackness that was the Danger Room now. Peter.

In other circumstances, he'd never consider a sacrifice throw, but this situation seemed perfect. He grabbed the armholes of Peter's uniform, rolled backward, using one foot to throw Peter over his body. He rolled with the throw, ending up on top of Peter, and tapped Peter's throat with his fist. In real combat, the blow would've crushed Peter's windpipe and incapacitated him. As it was, Peter went limp and lay still, out of this combat, and his body became a new obstacle in the room.

Logan rose, moved two steps to his right. Scott had been standing to that side, but with the noise of the throw, fall, and Peter's grunt, there was no telling where he might have moved.

Strong arms wrapped around him from behind, pinning one arm to his chest, but leaving the other free. He lunged forward into a runner's crouch, reached behind and over his head, caught hair, and rolled half-sideways, sending the other man to the floor. A knee tap to the head ensured that Bobby -- very short hair had told him who attacked him -- joined Peter in being another obstacle.

Two down, two to go. Kitty and Scott.

Logan moved toward ten o'clock. Kitty shouldn't still be there, which meant it would make a good regroup location. Not that he expected to need long to regroup, but --

A fist drove into his stomach with relatively little impact. That and its small size told him Kitty had joined the fray. She hit him a second time, and he was prepared, grabbing her fist and twisting it to one side. She yelped and he tapped her neck with the side of his hand. She fell, also out of the fight.

Which left Scott, whom he'd known would be his greatest challenge.

He froze where he stood beside Kitty's prone figure, listening, slowing his breathing instinctively.

The snap-kick to his kidney caught him off guard, and he stumbled forward to regain his balance, lashed out with a kick behind him that connected with empty air.

Scott's next kick caught him in the hamstring, and he felt his leg giving way for a heartbeat or two before his healing factor activated. Scott was fast, but not fast enough to take advantage of that small an opening, especially when Logan was already pivoting on his good leg to face Scott, though he couldn't see the other man in the black hole the Danger Room had become.

Scott pressed his attack anyway, aiming a punch at Logan's midsection. Logan took the blow, tensing his abdomen at the last moment, and brought his hand up under Scott's, grabbing the younger man's wrist and pivoting away from the punch, drawing Scott's arm up and over his head in a wide circle that ended with Logan gripping Scott's wrist and guiding the other man to his knees.

Scott exhaled tightly, a sound that might've been, "Ow."

"Lights on dim," Logan said, closing his eyes against the glare.

When he opened his eyes, he looked down at where Scott knelt before him, then released Scott's wrist, which he'd held pinned in the air between them.

A glance around the room told him no one was hurt -- other than their pride, he amended, noting Bobby's expression -- and he pulled the earplugs from his ears. About time, too, they made his ears itch.

"What was that?" Scott asked, rising to his feet and rubbing his wrist. Logan had had to press fairly hard, given the reinforced material their uniforms were made of.

"Aikido," Logan replied. "Use your opponent's momentum against him. And nerve endings to control his response."

"Yeah," Scott said as the others climbed to their feet. "I had no choice but to go down when you got my arm above my head like that."

"It's one of the more subtle martial arts," Logan agreed, wondering where and when he'd learned it. Before Stryker, he knew, but how much of his life was before Stryker? "It would be good for you, Kitty, because you don't need to be very strong. You need flexibility and endurance more."

"Might be good for all of us to get some of that training," Scott said.

"Takes a lifetime to master," Logan said, and had the sense that he had mastered it, sometime in the haze that made up most of his memory.

"What about the basic principles?" Scott asked.

"I can show some basics, sure."

"We'll work it into the regular training rotation," Scott said, and Logan could almost see his mind working to adjust the training schedule.

Before Scott could get too deeply into that thought pattern, Logan looked at Bobby. "You lost. That mean you're buyin' me pizza tonight?"

- X -

She'd been fortunate so far, Jean thought. A day and a half into the conference, and no one had recognized her from the news footage of the battle in Los Angeles. If they had, they hadn't said anything to her.

If that were going to change, it would in the next hour. She sat at the head table of the keynote luncheon, waiting to speak. Fitzroy had mentioned when he greeted her that there might be a few reporters in the room, come to report on Dr. Rao's research. When she'd asked why they hadn't been informed of Dr. Rao's absence, he'd said simply, "We kept hoping she would change her mind. The reporters won't be a problem, will they? After all, you faced worse when you testified at the Senate."

Which meant her gut agreed with William's -- she did not like Trevor Fitzroy at all. She had agreed to speak, though, and she would, out of respect for the conference itself if nothing else. She just hoped that nothing would go wrong.

The squeal of feedback from the microphone made her wince. Then Fitzroy's voice filled the room. "All the advances we've made in computers, genetics, medical science -- and we still can't keep a microphone from squealing."

Jean laughed politely with the rest of the attendees, and Fitzroy finished a flattering introduction of her that somehow managed to make the hair on the back of her neck prickle.

She took the podium with a smile amidst quiet applause. "I understand that Dr. Rao intended to summarize some of her recent research as a retrospective of where we've been and an impetus to greater achievements in the future. But as we look toward that future, we cannot focus solely on ever greater technical achievement without also considering the consequences of those achievements. So I'd like to talk about some of the questions that arise, though I don't expect any answers in an hour."

Without any prompting from her, the lecture became the discussion she'd envisioned, as she mentioned that the suppression serum had been used on a mutant without due process and several people voiced their outrage. Other topics grew naturally, from the aborted Mutant Registration Act to the growth and spread of mutation in the general population.

"You've raised some excellent issues, Dr. Grey," Fitzroy said when she'd concluded. "But aren't you somewhat biased? I did see you on television at Alcatraz, didn't I?"

She blinked at him, momentarily panicked, and Scott's presence strengthened in her mind. In an instant, she gave him the situation, and he sent her a wave of reassurance.

_It's an opportunity,_ he told her. _Don't waste it._

_I won't, but I really wasn't ready to go entirely public, either._

_Better now when you can control it a little than some other time when _they _control it._ He had a point, and she knew it. She took a breath, and looked first at Fitzroy, then around the gathered scientists.

"I am a daughter, a sister, a friend, a student and a teacher," she said deliberately. "I'm a doctor, a geneticist, and an activist. And I happen to be able to pick up my iced tea without touching it." She levitated her glass from the table to the left of the podium, caught it in her hand, and took a sip. She didn't need telepathy to sense the collective shock from those assembled.

She set her glass down, allowing the murmurs of surprise and unease to settle before continuing, "Some people choose to use that last fact to define me, just as some people choose to define Dr. Grandey by the color of his skin, or Dr. Katz by her religion. I don't believe any of those definitions are accurate or complete. If that makes me biased, Dr. Fitzroy, then I'm proud to be so."

- X -

"Oysdarn zol bay dir der moyekh." Logan barely heard Kitty's muttered words over the echo of a badly-hit cue ball as he walked into the game room.

"That sounds unpleasant," he observed.

Kitty straightened from where she bent over the pool table, scowling. "It's not unpleasant. It's Yiddish. I said my brain should dry up. I should've gotten this by now."

"It's not all geometry, Punkin."

She gave him a sharp glance at the nickname, but didn't pursue it -- just as well, since he had no idea where it had come from. "Trigonometry."

"Whatever. Gimme the cue." He held out his hand and stepped around the table. She'd managed a lousy break, he noted, with most of the balls still clustered together and a few outliers. "You also need to hit the ball. Not just tap it. Like this -- one ball in the side pocket."

He sank the ball, glanced up to see her watching intently.

"Keep your elbow in the same place, swing your forearm." He demonstrated the move and she nodded. "And practice hitting harder, dead center, for the break."

He handed her back the cue and watched while she lined up a couple of shots. "Better. Once you've mastered that, then you can start trying the fancy stuff, like banked shots."

She sank a ball and grinned at him. "Thanks."

"Any time. You get good, we'll start playing for money."

"That's a 'when', not an 'if'."

"Sure is," he agreed. "Long as you practice."

"Life is practice," Kitty grumbled good-naturedly. "Practice dancing, team practice, now this."

"Hey, you chose 'em all, Punkin."

"I know." She rested the cue on the floor, and he smiled to see that it was almost as tall as she was. She had to crane her neck to look up at him. "So, just passing by, thought you'd offer a lesson? Or looking for Marie?"

"Looking for you, actually."

That startled her. "Me?"

"Yeah." He glanced around, some instinct making him confirm they were alone. Well, as alone as anyone could be in the same house as the most powerful telepath on the planet. "Need some help. Figure you're the best person to ask."

"If I can, sure."

"I got a lead to my past the other day," he said, trying to sound more casual than he felt. "Wondered if you could track it down -- that's computer stuff, right?"

She blinked, and then said, "I can search, sure. Just give me whatever you've got."

"A James Logan served in the Army in Viet Nam. General Heath said he looked a lot like me."

"You think he might've been you?" She wasn't really looking for an answer, because she continued, "That makes sense, with your healing. I'll let you know what I find."

"Thanks. Now line up on the three and sink it."

He led her through the remaining balls and nodded when Kitty sank the last one. "Better. You run the table once a day, you'll be ready to hustle with the best of 'em in no time."

She flicked a startled glance at him. "I couldn't do that, it's wrong."

"Christ, it's spreading."

Now she looked puzzled. "What?"

"Ramrod up the ass disease. First Cyke, now you." He shook his head and gave an exaggerated sigh.

That made her laugh. "One of these days, I'll figure out your sense of humor."

"Nah, you'll just give yourself a mental hernia trying. Better you keep practicing your bank shots."

"Thanks for your help, Logan," Kitty said, her tone laced with amusement.

"Anytime, Punkin." He grinned and turned away from the game room, half of his mission accomplished. The other half --

He checked his watch, decided that it wasn't too close to the dinner hour to call, and strode out of the mansion onto the grounds. Scott's offer of the caretaker's cottage sounded better and better the more he thought about staying in the mansion, and he punched in a number on his cell phone as he turned toward the cottage.

"Summers." Scott's father sounded just as abrupt and businesslike as he did, Logan thought.

"Corsair, it's Logan."

"Thought you got your fill of military at the debriefing." Christopher Summers, father of Scott, observed.

"Got my fill long before that," Logan countered. "Turns out I may need a little more exposure."

"What's up?"

"You want the long version?"

"Short version will do."

"Assuming it hasn't been cleaned out yet, I want to get into Stryker's office. Or his assistant's."

"And do what?"

"See what I can find about my past." It was a bald statement, one that he wouldn't normally have made. But like father, like son. Corsair could handle any truth, no matter how difficult or ugly, but lies would send him right over the edge. "Stryker was involved. Don't know how much, but he was. Might be some records there that he didn't bury deep enough. Thing is --" Logan stopped outside the caretaker's cottage. "I don't know what I'm looking for exactly. Hopin' I'll know it when I see it."

"You're asking a lot," Summers said after a pause. "Getting you in isn't the problem. It's what you find when you're there. He had access to a lot of secured materials."

"Thought we were getting clearances. X-Men, saved the country."

"Just because you get a clearance doesn't mean you're cleared for everything. I'll see what I can do."

"Appreciate it." He ended the call and shoved his phone into his pocket. It was a leash, a tie to the team. He thought he should resent that leash, but he found he liked the sense of belonging it gave him. Living in this cottage was another tie. He hoped he'd like that one, too.

The cottage was barely ten feet on a side, made of mortared stone that didn't have any visible cracks, with an oak door that might still be solid, if termites hadn't gotten to it, and he stepped onto the slab of stone that served as a front stoop to test the door.

The hinges shrieked in protest, and Logan winced. That would be the first repair he made. Inside the single-room structure, he noted broken windows, animal nests, and a few rotted floorboards. On the whole, he thought the fireplace set into one wall would make the cottage cozy enough in winter. But the lack of a proper bathroom might prove a challenge to the collective powers and engineering talents the X-Men had.

That was a problem to solve later. This evening, he simply relished the thought of a private, quiet space. Soon enough, it would be livable.


	4. Chapter 4

I still don't own them. I'm just having a little fun with them, that's all.

Jean had expected the swarm of questions and comments after her demonstration and hadn't been too surprised when about half of the assembled scientists had risen to their feet, applauding.

But when the room had mostly emptied, and Jean was gathering her notes, a middle aged man in a dark suit approached. His nametag said that he was Ronald Matthews, an assistant manager of the hotel, and his disapproval and disgust radiated from him like heat from Scott's body. "Dr. Grey?"

"Yes, Mr. Matthews?" She finished tucking her notes into her portfolio and gave him a courteous smile.

The smile seemed to disconcert him, but determination spurred him on. "I am sorry to inconvenience you, but the hotel is asking you to leave."

"Leave?" It was the last thing she'd expected him to say. "What have I done?"

"Management reserves the right to refuse service to anyone," Matthews countered. "And we're refusing service to you."

"Oh." Jean dropped a hip onto the table. "You saw my demonstration, didn't you?"

"We can refuse service for any reason," Matthews said, his discomfort obviously growing.

"Other than to groups protected under the Civil Rights Act," Jean pointed out. "Which mutants aren't. Yet."

"We won't charge you for tonight's stay, even though it's after check-out time," Matthews said, stiff. "But if you haven't collected your things and departed within the hour, we will trespass you from the property."

"Ballsy," a new voice observed. Startled, Jean turned to the newcomer, had an impression of a man about her own age, plain features and intelligent eyes. "She just levitated a glass, God only knows what else she can levitate, and you're throwing her out. Glad I got a front row seat for that."

"Who are you?" Matthews demanded.

"Keith Stephens," the man replied. "I'm with the San Francisco Chronicle."

"Management reserves the right to refuse -- "

"Service to anyone," Keith echoed him. "I never said you didn't. I just said throwing out someone who could bounce you around like a basketball should be fun to watch."

"I wouldn't bounce him around like a basketball," Jean objected, although the thought of doing so would amuse her for a while. "I am, after all, a law-abiding citizen, and that would be assault and battery."

"True," Keith agreed. "But not all mutants are, are they? Law-abiding, I mean. How many mutants are there in the world, Dr. Grey?"

"Somewhere between fifteen and thirty million, or so we estimate. Not all of them have abilities that manifest as grossly as mine, though."

"Gross or not, that's a lot of people to throw out of a hotel," Keith said. "Might make an interesting story, too. Maybe even front page. Especially since Dr. Grey was one of those who defended Alcatraz and stopped Magneto from creating his own mutant-run dictatorship right here on American soil."

Matthews' eyes narrowed. "Are you threatening me?"

"I'm just doing my job," Keith answered with a shrug. "Which was originally to ask Dr. Grey for an interview, but I'm not dumb enough to let a front page story slip away."

Jean watched a muscle in Matthews' jaw twitch. Then he said, stiffly polite, "Forgive the misunderstanding, Dr. Grey. I'm sure the overly boisterous crowd this afternoon was simply an aberration, and won't happen again."

"I'm sure it won't," Jean answered. Matthews nodded and walked haughtily away. Jean turned her attention to Keith Stephens.

"I know," he said. "You could've handled it on your own, even without bouncing him around."

Jean had to chuckle. "I was just going to say thanks, that's all. Knights in shining armor are all too rare these days."

"There are those who would say you and the X-Men are just such knights," Keith observed.

Jean shrugged that off. "You wanted an interview?"

"I actually came up to say thanks. I'm from San Francisco. We know what you and the X-Men did at Alcatraz and then at Los Angeles. Most of us are smart enough to appreciate it."

"But -- you're a reporter?" Jean prompted.

"I'm a science reporter for the Chronicle," he said, "not features. I came to talk to Dr. Rao, but she's not here. If you're offering an interview, though, I wouldn't turn it down."

Her gut screamed, "No, no interview!" But Scott had said he intended to take the X-Men public, and it would happen sooner or later. Better to talk to a reporter who was at least somewhat sympathetic, she thought, remembering his earlier advice.

"I wasn't, really, but that doesn't mean I won't agree to one. The last session ends at five-thirty. We could meet in the lobby bar right after?"

"You mean you're staying here, after he tried to kick you out?"

"Of course," Jean said, surprised by the question. "Leaving now would give him the victory, wouldn't it?"

"He was rude."

Jean shrugged. "That was nothing compared to some of the things I've seen done to mutants."

Keith gave her a considering look. "I'll be interested in that, as well."

"Then I'll see you tonight, Mr. Stephens."

"Looking forward to it, Dr. Grey."

- X -

Scott squatted in the circle of students at one side of the basketball court. Across from him, Logan stood with another group. "Okay. We all know the rules of basketball, right?"

"Yeah. Try to throw the ball in that basket." Ten-year-old Taylor pointed at the basket to Scott's left. "And keep them from throwing it in the other."

Scott chuckled. "That's the basic idea. We'll work on the details."

"But Mr. Summers, it's not fair," nine-year-old Zachary said. "They've got Cody, and he runs really fast."

"And next time maybe he'll be on your team, Zach," Scott said. "That he isn't now just means we need to out-think them, and try to keep him from getting the ball, right?"

"I guess."

"Okay, let's get started." Scott straightened and clapped Zach on the shoulder. "At the break, tell me how you think we can handle Cody, okay?"

"We're gonna kick your ass." The shouted chorus from across the court made Scott frown. Logan stood there, grinning, as his team moved onto the court. He'd have to remind Logan that they were coaching sportsmanship, as well as sports.

Ten minutes later, after Cody had scored ten baskets, Scott called a time out and knelt in the huddle of kids. "Okay, Cody's being a real challenge. What can we do to counter that?"

"We could have Ms. Munroe call up a really high wind that just blows on him," Taylor suggested.

"Or Bobby can chill the air around him, make him slower," Zachary added.

"Both are good ideas," Scott said. "Except neither of them are on our team. What can we do with the powers we have?"

Five young foreheads crinkled in thought. Scott would let them think about it for a little bit before he made his own suggestion.

_Gentlemen, please come downstairs._ There was a sense of urgency in the professor's mental summons.

"The professor's calling," Scott told his team.

"Guess that means we have to stop," Taylor said, a bit of hope in her voice. "If you're taking the jet and all."

"We don't know that we are," Scott said as Logan came up. "But we'll let you know if we do."

Moments later, he and Logan stepped off the elevator into the lower level. Charles met them as he rolled out of Cerebro.

"What's wrong?" Scott asked.

"A high-level mutant suddenly appeared while I was scanning," Charles said. "Almost omega-level."

"That's a lot?" Logan asked.

Scott nodded, but he was focused on Charles. "Where?"

"In the city, just south of Central Park. But she's moving. I'll guide you as you get closer."

"That's not all," Logan said. "Is it?"

"Her power level alone is enough to warrant investigation," Charles said, "but the way she just appeared has me concerned. And --"

"And what?" Scott prompted.

"She seems to be looking for something. Or someone."

Scott nodded. "We'll get going. Keep us informed of her location."

- X -

"Can I get yesterday's newspaper, please?" Rachel asked. She'd taken a few minutes to savor the victory of arriving safely, then walked up Fifth Avenue to the mid-Manhattan branch of the New York Public Library, taking care that she wasn't followed, even going so far as to double back her route a couple of times. Finally, she'd made her way into the building and up to the newspaper index on the second floor.

"I can show you how to access the archives online," the woman behind the information desk said. "If you need to search a particular subject for your school work, that's easier."

"It's not for school," Rachel said, though of course the librarian would make that assumption. Most sixteen-year-olds who came in probably needed exactly that kind of help. "I just need the paper itself. And the day before, too."

It was the fastest way to get the knowledge she needed -- and she knew herself well. If she were to go online, she'd find herself distracted by all the interesting stories out there, not just the one she needed.

_Stay on point,_ she told herself. _You have a job to do, and you can't afford to be distracted. They're counting on you._

The librarian returned with a pair of newspapers, held them out to her. Rachel moved to take them, but the other woman's frown stopped her. "You okay, honey? You look --"

_Tired? Hungry? Hurt? All of that._ "I'm fine, thanks."

"Okay," the woman said in that tone Rachel knew meant she didn't really believe it. But she let go of the newspapers. "If you need anything, you tell me, okay?"

"I will." Rachel had to smile at the woman's concern -- genuine, not faked. What she needed was beyond anyone else's capacity to give.

Rachel found a table where she could open the newspapers out flat and sat down. She had a lot of information to gather, and a glance at the date on the upper corner of the page told her she needed to be quick in the doing.

But 'quick' didn't mean sloppy, so she read each article that caught her eye with care, engrossing herself in the details of her mission.

Some time later, a tickle of awareness told her she'd gotten too engrossed in her reading. Someone -- or a couple of someones, she corrected herself -- had come up behind her.

If it were only two, she'd be okay, even if she did blow her cover and make a mess of things. Discretion was secondary to survival and success.

But no reason for them to have all of the advantage. She turned in her chair, saw two men facing her, then gave a strangled cry when she recognized them.

"Dad!" She flung herself at her father.


	5. Chapter 5

I still don't own them -- either the movie version of "them" or the comic version, much less this hybrid version I'm having fun writing in.

X X X X X

Logan stared at the young woman -- not much more than a girl, by the looks of her -- clinging to Scott. There was something familiar-strange in her scent, and if Scott really were her father, that would explain it. It wouldn't explain just how Scott had come to have a teenage daughter, though, let alone one with the same color hair as Jean.

But Scott's arms closed around her shoulders -- which Logan now saw were shaking -- and he gave Logan a look that clearly said he had no idea what was happening here, either.

Scott spoke quietly to the girl, soothing her, and Logan glanced around the library, ever alert. The librarian's expression, suspicious and disapproving, annoyed him, and he glared at her, his lip unconsciously pulling back in a silent snarl. She flinched, but didn't look away.

"Scott -- not here, eh?"

Scott nodded fractionally, and pulled back to look down at the girl. Now that he had a clearer view, Logan saw that she had blue eyes like Scott's, but her bone structure reminded him of Jean.

"Want to get something to eat?" Scott asked her, and she straightened away from him with a nod, wiping tears from her eyes as she did.

It was the only joy of New York City, Logan decided, that there were diners and restaurants on every street. Midafternoon, it wasn't difficult to get seats in a diner a couple of blocks from the library.

The girl -- Rachel Summers, she'd said -- dug into a BLT with a care that Logan recognized meant she was hungry but knew better than to gorge herself.

"When was the last time you ate?" Scott asked. His tuna sandwich lay untouched on the plate in front of him.

"Um." She swallowed, her forehead creased. "Franklin brought some food three days ago, but Trevor said I shouldn't eat before the jump. The last thing I needed was to get here but be too sick to do my job."

"What job is that?" Scott sounded remarkably calm, Logan thought. If it weren't for the pulse throbbing in Scott's neck, he'd never have known the other man had any reaction at all.

"Save the world from evil," she said, serious. "Just like the X-Men have always done."

"Where'd you come from?" Logan asked. "And why'd you call him Dad?"

"Because he is," Rachel answered, with a tone and a look that suggested Logan should be smarter than that question implied. "But I won't be born for a while yet." She took a breath. "I came from the future -- seventeen years, to be exact."

Logan felt shock rippling through him when he did the math, saw it echoed in Scott's expression from the corner of his eye. But he kept most of his attention focused on Rachel. Her pulse and respiration remained constant, she wasn't blinking more than normal. He could only conclude, "She's tellin' the truth. Least, she believes what she's sayin'."

"It's true," Rachel said, and Logan recognized the anger that flared in her eyes. Jean, through and through. "I was born just before Project Wideawake went live."

"Project Wideawake?" Scott asked, still remarkably calm, at least on the outside.

"There's so much to tell you," Rachel shook her head. "And I'm not sure how much I should. Trevor said saying too much could be worse than saying too little."

"Who's Trevor?" Logan concealed a smile at the suspicion in Scott's tone -- not the suspicion of someone checking the truth of a story, it was the suspicion of a father checking into his daughter's boyfriend.

"He's a mutant, very powerful. His power involves localized time manipulation. His power's what got me here." Sadness crossed her expression, and she took another bite of her sandwich.

"Sounds like you got a story to tell," Logan offered after a moment.

"And better you tell all of us at once," Scott added.

Logan sensed her panic, momentary but intense, but all Rachel said was, "It would save time, and I don't know how much time we have."

- X -

Scott pulled the Mazda into its space in the mansion's garage. He, Logan, and Rachel had spent the drive back from New York City in silence. Rachel stared at the changing view as if she'd never seen it before, ignoring the silent threatening presence of Logan sitting behind her. Well, Scott amended with a private smile, silent after, "You need a bigger car," as Logan had folded himself into the back seat.

Jean had felt his shock when Rachel called him Dad, and her presence woke in his mind. He'd sent back a hasty, _Weirdness abounds. Tell you when I can,_ that had mollified her. Now he contemplated explaining this to her when they did have a chance to connect later -- though he had to admit a certain pleasure in meeting their daughter before she did. That didn't happen in the normal course of events.

Of course, that said daughter was sixteen years old and he was barely twice her age -- that would take some adjustment. He shut off the engine and got out of the car. Rachel climbed out of the passenger seat and leaned it forward to give Logan an extra few inches to squeeze through. She paused, her attention caught. Scott followed her gaze, had to smile when he saw what she looked at.

"You like motorcycles?" he asked.

She trailed her hand over the seat. "I've had a lot of rides on this bike."

He wanted to offer to take her out for a ride after their meeting with the professor, but he held back. It bothered him that he accepted her story so easily, that he felt protective toward her already. Even his feelings for Jean hadn't come on that quickly, that strongly. The thought of Jean made him smile again. She'd probably want to run a DNA test, just to be sure. But somewhere deep inside, Scott knew this was his daughter -- his and Jean's. Or else it was a shape-shifter even better than Mystique, he amended. He preferred to think he wouldn't be fooled by a shape-shifter, but he couldn't discount the possibility, no matter how much he wanted to relax and believe Rachel's story.

After she talked with the professor -- then he could relax. Maybe.

Rachel stared at the paneled walls and oil paintings as they made their way to the professor's office, almost as though she had never seen it before, and that sent Scott's stomach into a tight knot. Why would his daughter not know the mansion?

The door to Charles's office stood open, and Scott rapped on the doorframe as he turned into the room. Charles looked up from a discussion with Kitty and Bobby.

"Sorry," Scott said to the younger X-Men. Then, to Charles, he added, "You need to hear this."

"Is it a team thing?" Bobby looked over his shoulder at Scott, then did a double-take when he saw Rachel. Scott recognized the male interest in Bobby's eyes, couldn't help the paternal thought, _She can do better._

He saw Rachel's mouth twitch, wondered if she'd inherited Jean's telepathy, but said only, "Not yet. When it is, we'll have a team briefing."

"We'll continue this later," Charles told Bobby and Kitty. "After dinner, perhaps."

They nodded and stood. Kitty blinked her own surprise at Rachel's appearance, but smiled at her. Bobby followed her out of the room. Scott barely heard Logan's quiet, "Eyes in, Drake," as he passed.

"It's not a team issue until we know whether she's telling the truth," Scott said. Logan closed the office door and stood against it to prevent any unwanted intrusions.

"I see," Charles said. Then, "Please, sit down, Miss -- ?"

"Rachel Summers."

Charles' expression didn't waver, though he flicked a glance at Scott before focusing again on Rachel. "I'm Charles Xavier."

"I know. And you're a powerful telepath, the most powerful anyone's ever known. You want to read my mind and see if I'm telling the truth."

"You don't sound frightened," Charles observed.

"My mom's a telepath. So am I. No, I'm not frightened."

Well, that answered his earlier question, Scott thought, as Charles nodded. "Then you know how to let me in."

"Uh-huh." For long moments, the room was quiet and Scott could almost feel the communication between the two of them. Then Rachel made a face. "Could you be any more clinical?"

Charles ignored that -- he'd had years of practice dealing with bratty teenagers -- and looked up at Scott. "I believe she is telling the truth. She is your and Jean's daughter from the future."

- X -

"What kind of interview are you looking for?" Jean sat back in the booth opposite Keith Stephens.

"What kind are you prepared to give?" Keith asked with a grin. Jean raised an eyebrow, even as her telepathic sense told her he wasn't coming on to her, and his grin became a laugh. "No innuendo intended. We can talk about research into gross mutation, we can talk about ethical and moral issues surrounding mutation, or we can talk about the X-Men, whichever you prefer."

She wanted to retreat into the safety of research, or the higher ground of ethics and morals. She understood Scott's reasoning behind taking the team public, but she'd grown so accustomed to hiding what she could do that the thought of openly talking about it almost made her ill. But the only way to conquer a fear was to do the thing feared, so she summoned a smile, and said, "Your choice, but you already know my stance on the morals and ethics issues from before."

"It does seem like a waste of time to revisit that," Keith agreed. "And the research seems pointless, given what happened in California over the last few weeks. I guess that leaves the X-Men."

"I guess it does." Her mouth felt dry, and her stomach knotted. How would she be able to eat the dinner they'd ordered? "Where do you want to start?"

"How about where the X-Men started?"

"The X-Men started with a man named Charles," Jean said. "He was one of the first to have a gross power mutation. Over the years, he found others like him, and gave us a place where we could learn to use our abilities in safety. I was one of his first students, along with Hank McCoy."

"Secretary McCoy?" Keith seemed impressed.

"Hank's a good friend, yes, and --" she broke off, suddenly alert. She couldn't possibly be sensing Logan's thoughts here in Dallas, could she?

"Dr. Grey?" Keith prompted after a moment.

"Sorry." She shook her head, as though to clear it. "Hank and I were the first. Then came Storm and Cyclops."

Why was she feeling Logan's presence? She probed at the link she had with Scott, but he felt quiet in her mind -- too quiet, refusing even to respond to her mental touch.

"First students, you said. So this man -- this Charles -- taught you to use your powers?"

"And helped us to find ways to contain them, when necessary," she added, thinking of the ruby quartz glasses Scott had had to wear until recently. But Keith didn't seem to be listening as intently as he had been. Instead, his attention was focused on something behind her, toward the restaurant entrance.

"Am I interrupting?"

Jean whirled at the simple question, certain she was hallucinating. But no, Logan stood behind her chair. He should've looked out of place in this four-star hotel, in his denim and flannel and leather, but this was Texas -- denim and leather were practically a uniform here.

"What's wrong?" Jean asked, already standing.

"Tell you in a bit." Logan frowned at Keith. "Who's this?"

Keith stood, apparently not intimidated, and offered his hand. "Keith Stephens, with the San Francisco Chronicle."

"He's interviewing me for a story on the X-Men," Jean said. She'd found enough cash in her purse to cover the meal, dropped it on the table.

"Can I tag along?" Keith asked. "I know enough to stay out of the way, but seeing you guys in action and maybe getting some photos would be great."

Logan scowled, but said, "Not my call. Give me a minute." Logan turned away and spoke quietly into his commlink. When he turned back, he looked at Jean. "You need help getting your things?"

She shook her head. "Lousy timing for the check-out, though. I'll be back in ten."

"You, too, if you really want to come," Logan told Keith. "Meet you out front."

- X -

Jean slid into the co-pilot's seat of the Blackbird. Scott had brought it down in University Park, not far from where the convention was being held. Logan had taken her bag to stow it in the rear compartment and told Keith to strap in.

"What's going on?" Jean asked as she slipped her headset on.

"Tell you in a bit," Scott replied, and even his mental presence was still.

_You're hiding again,_ Jean sent, and couldn't quite keep her disappointment from bleeding through.

_Only until we get home, I promise,_ Scott assured her. Then, _Reporter?_

_You said you wanted to go public,_ Jean reminded him. _He's a science reporter, not a tabloid reporter, and he was in California. He's as sympathetic as we're likely to find._

_As long as he's clear that certain things are not to be published._

_He is. Or will be._ Jean cast her mind back to Keith. He looked around, studying the interior of the Blackbird with an appreciative eye, and she couldn't sense any hostile or negative intent from him. She wasn't naïve enough to assume he couldn't block her, but between her telepathy and the professor's, they'd have to be very strong blocks indeed.

"We need to book a party at that hotel," Jean said aloud.

"That nice a place?" Logan asked while Keith laughed.

"No. The manager's a bigot, and rubbing his nose in mutantkind seems somehow appropriate."

"Public relations at its best," Scott muttered.

"No, that would be having Hank arrange to host something there," Jean said.

Keith's laugh echoed through the Blackbird. "You have a wicked sense of humor, Dr. Grey."

_Is he hitting on my fiancée?_ Scott asked, amused.

_He hasn't yet,_ Jean replied. _But he is fun to talk to. And we owe him dinner, since you interrupted that one._

_He's getting the biggest story of his life. He can buy his own damn dinner._

Scott's nonchalant humor didn't quite hide his nervousness. Whatever was coming, Jean thought, it might truly be the biggest story of someone's life.

- X -

Rachel paced the room that belonged to her parents. She'd asked, almost begged, to go with her father to pick up her mother, but he'd refused, saying that such things were better done in private. On an intellectual level, she knew he was right, but that didn't stop her from wanting to spend every moment available with the father she'd never known.

She paused to look at familiar pictures resting on a bookshelf, seeing them anew, fresh and unfolded, untorn. There was the one of both of her parents, caught in a moment of stillness, their world condensed to nothing but each other, even in the midst of what was obviously a Christmas party. There was the one of her father sitting on his motorcycle, when he'd taken it out for a shakedown ride after finishing the first set of modifications to it. There was one of him playing basketball with Bobby and Peter, and one someone had taken from the observation booth of the Danger Room, showing him blasting the crap out of some programmed enemy.

She'd studied those pictures, listened to her mother's stories, even shared a few of her mother's memories over the years. She knew every line of his face, every angle of his posture, but none of that had prepared her for the live man.

Not least, Rachel hadn't been prepared for the near total lack of any psychic impressions from him. Oh, she hadn't tried to probe deeply -- she wouldn't do that to someone she loved without their permission -- but even the casual scans she couldn't help making resulted in the equivalent of mental white noise. Maybe that was one reason her mother loved him so.

A small commotion, physical more than mental, drew her attention to the door, and she turned to face it, steeling herself for what she knew was coming, although she barely sensed the two presences outside.

Rachel took a deep breath and lowered her shields. Open and honest was the way to deal with both of her parents.

The door opened, and she saw her father first. "We have a guest for a while," he was saying as he came into the room. He stepped aside. "Jean Grey, meet Rachel Summers."

"Rachel -- Summers?"

She smiled at the inquiring surprise in her mother's tone, lifted her eyes to meet her mother's gaze. "Hi, Mom. Good to see you again."

"Mom?" Just as she'd seen her father anew through the photos, now she saw not just Mom, but Jean Grey, M.D., Ph.D., Phoenix. She'd always known her mother was all of those things, but now she saw them for herself.

Rachel couldn't help smiling, a little. "I know, even though the professor already examined me, you want to do it yourself."

"He did," her father said. "We both believe her."

She saw the glance that flickered between them, realized that it was more habit than actual need for confirmation, and then her mother stepped closer. Rachel was vaguely aware of her father moving around them, closing the door, putting a small suitcase by the bed. Instead, her mother's presence filled her mind.

Unlike the hundreds of times they'd mindlinked before, this time held none of the love, the comfort, the closeness they'd shared. This was an X-Man evaluating a potential threat to the team that had become her second family.

Rachel fought the instinct to defend herself, instead allowed the probe that felt almost like an attack. She shared memories of their times together, both fights and quiet times, though she was careful not to show moments that might have included her father. She'd have to tell them, eventually, but she'd put off that moment as long as she could.

Finally, she was alone in her own mind again, feeling tension leave her body, meeting her mother's gaze with her own.

"Okay," her father said, rubbing his temple. "I'm guessing I didn't referee a lot of arguments between you two."

Rachel couldn't help the laugh that bubbled out of her, and a moment later, all three of them were laughing.

"Trust you to break the tension," her mother said with an affectionate glance at her father.

"Have to, or you'll be at this all night." He smiled at her. "Rachel says we can do a full briefing in the morning."

"Morning? After all the trouble to get you here?"

She hadn't been able to hide all of that experience from her mother's probe, knew that some of the loss, the death, had bled through. But her mother's tone and expression suggested she didn't know just how much loss and death there had been. "Trevor's power isn't exact. We knew a rough date, and he tried to overshoot that date by a week."

"Trevor?" Her mother frowned. Apparently she hadn't picked up the name, either.

"Trevor Fitzroy," Rachel clarified. "His power is localized time control."

"Jean? Something wrong?"

"I just met Trevor Fitzroy in Dallas."

Rachel nodded. "This time, this event that's coming up, is what he calls a nexus -- an event where timelines branch. So all the major players will have connections."

"But if timelines branch," her father asked from where he leaned against the dresser, "what difference does changing any one of them make?"

"This timeline is --" she paused, casting her mind back to Trevor's simplified explanation, trying to find the right words -- "prime? I think that's what he said. If we can change this one, we'll change dozens, hundreds, of alternate timelines in the future."

"And it's worth it?" he asked. "Your future, our future, is that bad?"

"Bad enough that Trevor and a dozen others gave their lives to get me here. Including Mom."


	6. Chapter 6

"How's Rachel?" Scott asked as Kitty approached the rest of the group for the morning run. Though she had two beds in her room, this year Kitty had no roommate, so it had made sense for Rachel to room with her, at least for now.

"Sleeping like a baby," Kitty said.

"Up every two hours, demanding to be fed or changed?" Logan asked, trying to look innocent, and Scott had to smirk.

Kitty just glared at Logan, then looked back to Scott. "I have the feeling she hasn't slept in a real bed in a while."

Scott nodded. His daughter's life hadn't been easy, at least not in her recent past -- but he thought they'd get the full story in a few hours when the entire team met for briefing.

"Am I late?"

Scott glanced over his shoulder, surprised to see Keith Stephens approaching in a T-shirt and jogging shorts.

"Figured it couldn't hurt for him to see some of the training we do," Logan observed. "And the run's better to start with than some of the other training."

Scott caught the oblique reference to the Danger Room. "True enough." Then he grinned at the reporter. "We won't hold it against you if you can't keep up."

"That sounds like a challenge," Keith said. "If I do keep up, do I get to see the other training Logan won't go into detail about?"

"Only if you sign a non-disclosure agreement," Scott quipped. "We have to keep some secrets, after all."

"Now you've got me curious. I'll have to keep up."

"Then start -- now." Scott gave the last word a slight emphasis and took off along the trail that circled the lake.

Ten miles and eighty minutes later, they had finished the run and were pacing the basketball court to cool down.

"Good job," Scott told Keith.

"So I pass muster?" Keith grinned at him.

"I expected you to have to walk eight miles ago," Scott confessed. "Most people don't train like we do."

"Most people," Jean said, "don't have you as their trainer."

"Most people don't fight crazy mutants, either," Scott countered. To Keith, he added, "I've never thought it was a good idea just to rely on our powers in a fight."

"No resting on laurels, is that it?" Keith asked.

"Something like that," Scott agreed. It wasn't the time or place to explain all of what went into their training and the reasoning behind it. And maybe it never would be. "We can talk about it more later," he added as he saw Rachel crossing the courtyard. "Right now, we need to shower and have a briefing."

"Which I'm not part of. Right," Keith said cheerfully.

_He needs to be there._ The voice in Scott's mind wasn't Jean's. He looked up at Rachel.

_Why?_

She hesitated, then, _I trust him. He's been our ally since the beginning._

_What aren't you telling me?_ It wasn't possible to flat out lie in a mindlink, but that didn't mean one always told the whole truth.

Another, longer hesitation, and for a moment he thought she'd let the link drop. Finally, she sent, _He was like a father to me, after you died._

- X -

Instead of showering in the locker room as he usually did, Scott went back to the room he shared with Jean. Rachel's words had shocked him, and he'd sought refuge, a few minutes alone to compose himself before facing the team.

Minutes he wouldn't get, he realized, as the shower door opened and Jean stepped under the stinging hot spray with him. Wordlessly, she embraced him from behind, and he crossed his hands over hers.

_Both of us, dead within twenty years._ After their first fight against Magneto's brotherhood, he'd realized that he would die in battle. No long life for him, but that was the trade-off he'd make if it meant stopping people like Magneto. But somehow, he'd pictured Jean living to a ripe old age. Rachel's words the night before had shattered that picture.

_Maybe not,_ Jean said. _That's why Rachel came back, to change the events of her past. Including, presumably, our deaths._

_Easy for you to say,_ Scott grumbled and squeezed her hands. _You know you have sixteen or seventeen years. She didn't say when I died._

_So we live as we always have,_ Jean told him. _Not knowing if this day is our last, but working for what we believe in._

Scott turned in her arms, looked into her eyes. She blinked as the shower spray hit them, and he said, "Whatever happens, I will love you until I die, and after, if I can. Remember that."

He let the link deepen, let her feel his love for her, and she blinked away tears. "I'll cherish every moment we have together."

He pulled her closer for a moment, savoring the contact, physical and mental. It would be so easy to lose himself in her, but he couldn't. He had a briefing to conduct and a future to avert. So he stepped back, reluctantly, and traced a forefinger along the side of her face.

"I know," she said. "Duty calls."

"Damned inconvenient timing, too."

- X -

Rachel wasn't surprised she was the first one into the briefing room -- she hadn't just run ten miles, after all. An entire gymnastics team seemed to have chosen her stomach for its training, and she paced the briefing room, trying to decide how much to share with the others.

"There is rarely a single correct answer to a problem."

She turned at the voice, smiled just a little at Charles Xavier. "I'm not worried about getting the right answer. I'm worried about giving a wrong answer, and I'm afraid there are more wrong answers than right ones."

"Are there?" He wheeled his chair to the open place at the foot of the table.

"Trevor said that saying too much could be worse than saying nothing." She accepted his unspoken, unthought invitation and sat in a chair beside him.

"Doesn't that assume that you're trying to preserve the timeline as you know it?"

"Does it?" Rachel frowned.

"You said you want to change the future, presumably to something better. Would telling us more help us achieve that?"

"I don't know." She couldn't help the desperation that flooded her voice. "What if telling you all that made it worse? I couldn't stand that -- " _They'd all have died for nothing._

He took her hand, clasped it between both of his. "We can only play the hand we're dealt. You're giving us a clue to what the dealer has, but there are other players in the game, and the cards haven't been fully dealt yet, either."

Rachel squeezed his hand tightly. "But -- people die."

"Everyone dies sometime."

"Some sooner than others."

He regarded her intently. "You mean people close to you."

She drew a shaky breath. "I met my father for the first time yesterday. He died a few days after I was conceived."

"And?" He might not be actively reading her mind, Rachel thought, but he was still highly intuitive.

She raised her eyes to his. "He died trying to save you. And failed."

His expression didn't change, and neither did her sense of him. He simply accepted what she said, and the emotion that went with it, and then, "Let's try to see that doesn't happen this time, shall we?"

Rachel smiled, briefly, but the door opened before she could speak, and she looked up to see Logan and Kitty coming in to find seats. So she simply squeezed Charles's hand with a murmured, "Thanks," before greeting the newcomers.

Moments later, the room was full of people, including Keith Stephens, she noted, and her father stood at the head of the table. "For those of you who don't know, this is Rachel Summers. My and Jean's daughter -- from the future."

No surprised outburst followed that announcement, though she saw Keith's jaw drop and felt surprise reverberating in his thoughts. Of course -- this was his first exposure to the X-Men. He didn't know yet that they ate weird for breakfast and usually went back for seconds.

"I'm sure you've guessed she's not here on a pleasure trip," her father continued. "Rachel --?"

"Not even close to a pleasure trip," Rachel said quietly, but her voice carried in the silent-still room. "It was a last-ditch effort to prevent a catastrophic future. It starts innocently enough, with a debate -- between you, Professor, and a man named Trask."

"Trask?" Her father asked. "As in General Simon Trask?"

"His brother, Bolivar," Rachel said. "Trask believes that all mutants are a threat, and at the debate, he unveils Project Wideawake, designed to control and detain mutants, whether they've revealed themselves as mutants or not."

That sent a ripple of objections around the room. "I know," she said over the commotion. "It's un-American, it's offensive on its face, all of it. But that doesn't stop a fanatic. Which he is."

"That debate is scheduled for the day after tomorrow," Charles said. Rachel kept her silent scream behind tight shields. She'd only have two days with her father?

"So some government or private program doesn't like mutants," Bobby said. "Why's that a problem? The professor lose the debate?" His tone clearly indicated he didn't think that was possible.

"The problem is that Project Wideawake has technology that detects mutants. Combined with the cure serum --" Rachel let the implications hang. It wasn't entirely true, but it was close enough.

"I'll go with you, Professor," her father said. "I might be able to figure out how that technology works from his descriptions."

"I should go," Kitty began, but before she could finish, Cyclops cut her off.

"You should be studying for your finals."

"I'm already above an A in everything," Kitty protested.

"Except history. And you -- all of you --" her father's glance included Peter and Bobby -- "have missed too much school due to team concerns already. I'm not the genius you are, Kitty, but I can handle this. And when we get back, you and I will analyze everything he said, and try to figure out a counter to this technology."

Rachel's shields were higher and tighter than they'd ever been. Her fingers dug into the armrests of her chair. How casually her father talked about going to his death. Not that he knew that.

"If it all starts with the debate," Peter said, "then why not avoid the debate? Cancel it, maybe raise concerns that Trask has ulterior motives?"

"The debate isn't the important thing, is it?" her father asked. "It's this new technology. And as long as he has it, he can lobby his brother for its use."

Rachel nodded, unable to speak.

"What's wrong?" her mother asked. It was hell trying to shield against two telepaths, one of whom had an instinctive connection that went deeper than telepathy.

Rachel shook her head, her lips tight, and she fought for control.

"It's more than a debate," Charles spoke beside her. "When she said unveils, she meant demonstrates."

"What kind of demonstration?" Bobby asked, perking up. Rachel envied him his ignorance.

"A violent one," Charles said. "I believe in her timeline, Scott and I die as a result."

That caused a commotion, both physical and mental. Oddly, neither of her parents seemed surprised. Her father let the commotion continue for just a moment, then, "Quiet."

His voice wasn't loud, but it carried, and it was a sign of his leadership that he got quiet within seconds of asking for it.

"That's not the most pleasant thing to think about," he said, "but forewarned is forearmed. We can only do our best in any situation, and our best depends on the intel we have. What happened, Rachel? Exactly?"

She met his gaze, her eyes burning. How could he so calmly accept that she was sending him to his death?

His shields dropped, and then she knew. He didn't believe it was his death. She'd come to change the future, and he would start with this.

His confidence humbled her. She swallowed back her fears, let out a slow breath, and told him.

- X -

So soon before the debate was scheduled to be taped meant that getting passes to watch it live would be a challenge, Scott knew. When he mused that thought aloud, Keith gave him a grin.

"Guess I can earn my keep," he said. "Press connections." After a few calls, he reported that he'd managed four passes.

"I'm in as Charles's assistant," Scott said, in a rare moment of planning aloud. He'd have to adjust his original thoughts, given the revelation that he was supposed to die -- presumably due to lack of planning. "You have one of the four passes, the other three are Jean, Rachel, and --"

"No."

Scott looked over at Rachel's interruption. "Why not?"

"I've fought these things before, remember. They're not just simple robots. They have AI, and they can analyze faster than we can."

"So what works against them?"

"Very little." Rachel took a breath, let it out. Scott hid a smile at the expression she wore -- so like Jean's. "Ororo fried one, once, with a major lightning blast. Logan's claws are good. And Kitty's phase-disruption works on them, too. But our telekinesis hasn't worked well at all."

"I'm thinking lightning is the last choice," Scott intentionally kept his tone dry. "Too much potential collateral damage."

And then, with that burst of clarity he'd long grown accustomed to, he had it. It meant bringing the younger X-Men along when he preferred not to, but they could make up schoolwork. They couldn't make up a world gone to hell.

"The other three passes go to Jean, Rachel, and Kitty," he said. "Jean, Rachel, you need to be scanning for any sign of that thing's approach, and the instant you sense anything, let me know. Logan, Peter, and Bobby will be outside, also watching for it."

"You mean we're coming?" Bobby asked.

Scott barely nodded acknowledgment of the question. "Jean, you'll maintain the combat link and support Rachel. Rachel, your first job is to shield the bystanders and get them away if you can."

"You don't understand," Rachel protested. "Ororo -- "

"You don't understand." He saw the shock in Rachel's eyes at having his Cyclops-command voice turned on her, but he couldn't let up. "We have two advantages they don't know about. I'm going to make full use of them."

"But --"

"It's an order," Scott said. "If you can't follow it, you're staying here."

She glared at him, and he felt the brush of her mind against his. He let her sense his will, his resolve. And then she withdrew, and nodded, mute.

"Good," he said, just to make it clear for the others. "Kitty, I want you also defensive, but if you see a chance to phase through its control circuits, do it."

"If I can figure out where they are," Kitty said, with an expression that made the others laugh.

"I have faith in you, Kitten," Scott gave her a warm smile. "You came through in L.A., and you'll come through now." He turned to Logan. "You're the last line of defense."

"Been that position before," Logan said. "I got your back."

"Nobody I'd rather have there." It still surprised him that he meant it. But any doubts he'd had about Logan had vanished in the aftermath of Alcatraz and Los Angeles. He glanced over the assembled team. "Okay, that's it. We'll leave tomorrow morning at ten sharp."

As the others filed out, he said, low, "Logan, a word?" He knew the other man would hear him, but it wasn't likely anyone else would.

"You got a nasty habit of not telling everybody all the details of your plans," Logan observed when they were alone.

"Paranoia's not necessarily a bad thing," Scott said. "But I saw those advantages, and I don't want any chance of word of them getting out beforehand."

"So what's up?"

"Thought we'd talk about what to do if things go badly tomorrow," he said evenly.

A raised eyebrow was Logan's only comment.

"If I don't make it," he clarified. Then, to Logan's silent nod, he said, "I know you'll take care of the team -- and Ro and Marie will probably have to rejoin full time."

"You're thinking about Jeannie."

Trust the Wolverine to cut to the chase. "I am." He paused -- why was it so hard to say such a simple thing? "I think she's pregnant."

"Almost have to be, wouldn't she, if you're supposed to die in a couple of days?"

"You don't have to sound so casual about it." It was the only thing Scott could say to address just how weird the situation was.

Logan dropped a hand on Scott's shoulder. "I said I got your back. I'll take care of her. And the team."

- X -

He should've known it was too good to last. After fifteen years wandering the Canadian Rockies, doing little more than surviving while he investigated what little he could find of his past, he'd found Xavier's school and a place and a purpose as second in command of the X-Men. So naturally that meant that in just a few days, events would be set in motion that could bring it all to a screeching halt. Just his luck.

Logan snarled aloud as he approached the caretaker's cottage. Was it only yesterday that he'd been looking forward to clearing it out and moving in? He'd figured after the briefing that he could get most of the debris cleared out, then by evening have a bedroll down so he could sleep in relative quiet.

Then Rachel had told them about the debate, and the attack that followed it, and the deaths of Charles and Scott, and he'd seen the future he'd found crumbling to dust. Even if he did move in to the cottage, what happened after Scott and Xavier's deaths at the debate would render that choice moot. If Rachel's condition when they'd found her was any indication, he wouldn't have a comfortable bed for many years.

So why was he out here to clear the cottage anyway?

Because for the first time in a long time, he had hope. He didn't like thinking about what gave him that hope, but he acknowledged it very privately. He had hope because he had faith in Scott, and Jean, and what the X-Men were becoming. They weren't yet the heroes Scott wanted them to be, but they were getting there. And he had faith that Scott could lead them through this. If he lived.

He shoved the cottage door open, heard a startled cry from across the room. Rachel had jumped to her feet from where she sat on the stone hearth. He must've been distracted if he hadn't caught her scent.

Now that he had her scent, it caressed him. So much like Jean's, but spicy and enticing in a way that went straight to his groin.

Was it all redheaded women who'd make him hard in less than a heartbeat, he wondered, or just those from the Grey bloodline?

"What're you doing here?" Way to go, Wolverine. Mask discomfort with aggression.

"I came to get away from the noise. And --" she broke off, unsure.

"And?" She wore shorts, he noted, probably borrowed from Kitty, accentuating long legs.

"And to try to convince myself that I didn't just send the whole team to their deaths, whatever Dad thinks."

"Your dad's a brilliant tactician and strategist," Logan said. "If anybody can pull this out, he can."

"You think so?"

"Yeah, I do." He crossed the room and sat down on the hearth next to her. It brought him deeper into the circle of her scent, but she needed the comfort more than he needed not to have his senses overwhelmed. At least his jeans were loose enough that sitting wasn't entirely uncomfortable. "He can be a dick, but he's got us through some tough scrapes already."

"I wish I knew him."

"You got the chance now," Logan pointed out.

"He's busy coordinating I don't know what in preparation for the debate. I'll try to talk to him -- both of them -- later." In an obvious attempt to change the subject, she said, "What are you doing here?"

"Figured I'd get started cleaning the place up. I've lived in rough conditions, but having a clean floor is nice."

She gave him a curious look. "Lived in? You mean you were going to move in here?"

"Yeah. I take it I never got the chance to, in your memory." Her silence was answer enough, and he shrugged. "May not get the chance in this timeline, either, but no sense giving up before we've lost."

She nodded and then said, quietly, "Want some help?"

"Sure." She was buying into the hope he'd offered, and he couldn't overlook it. He stood and started toward the push-broom he'd brought out the night before.

"No, wait."

He paused and glanced back at her. She grinned at him -- oddly, it reminded him more of Scott than of Jean, and the hint of flirtatiousness he saw in it was just his imagination -- and then he saw the leaves, branches, various animal nests, and bits of paper that had accumulated over years of disuse floating across the floor to make a neat pile near the door.

"You got Jeannie's telekinesis, too."

"Uh-huh."

Logan nodded, watched the rest of the debris pile up, and gave thanks that Xavier's own telepathy had helped keep the cottage free of the detritus of bored students, or the cleanup would've been far more difficult than it was.

"So you're going to live out here?"

"And your folks are taking the boathouse. The mansion's getting crowded." So was the cottage, suddenly, with just the two of them and his overactive libido.

"And the distance will help," she said. "Mom and her telepathy, and you and your senses."

"What about you and your telepathy?"

Rachel shrugged. "Mine's not as strong as Mom's. The crowd won't bother me as much. Besides, sharing with Kitty isn't bad. She thinks in logic and equations."

Logan couldn't help chuckling as he looked at the pile of debris. Then he quirked an eyebrow at Rachel. "Guess I can move in sooner than I expected."

"If you need help with the heavy lifting, let me know." She grinned. "My TP's not as strong as Mom's, but my TK is up there."

"I will." He couldn't imagine there would be any heavy lifting, though. He didn't need much. He swept the last of the debris out the door, set the broom outside against the cottage wall, then turned back to look at Rachel. She still sat on the hearth where he'd left her, looking more rested than when they'd met, but still troubled and maybe even a little lost.

"You busy this afternoon?" He didn't know where the question came from, but the sudden light in her eyes told him it had been the right thing to ask.

"No, not really. What are you thinking?"

He grinned at her. "Can't you read my mind?"

"Not without focused effort. Mom says you've always been hard to read." She was so casual, so nonchalant about it, and he still had trouble thinking of Jean pregnant.

"Thought about catching a movie in town. Maybe a meal after."

She gave him a look that was all Scott, but somehow more Rachel. "The big bad Wolverine is offering to take a teenager to a movie?"

"More than one teenager," Logan said. "Peter, Kitty, and Bobby don't have a lot of experience handling the lead-up to a fight. Distracting them's the better idea."

Was that disappointment that flickered in her expression? And what was he supposed to do if it was? "Nobody'll believe it. Even with the reasoning, which makes sense."

"You have."

"What?"

"You have that experience." It wasn't really a question, he'd read the answer in her stance, her eyes from the moment he'd seen her.

"Yeah. I do." Her tone dared him to make an issue of it.

He only nodded. "Good. You can help them through it."

- X -

So Logan saw her as a battle comrade. She'd thought he'd been looking at her as a woman, even an attractive one, but he'd shied away from it almost as quickly as she'd had the thought.

But the attraction was there, if only for a moment. It was a start, and better than she'd ever expected to find.

Rachel remembered how he couldn't stop seeing her as the child he once bounced on his knee. That Logan had never seemed to notice that she'd grown into a young woman who had desires of her own. This Logan, unbiased by such memories, might be able to see her as the woman she'd become.

So she walked with him back to the mansion, helped him gather up the other X-Men -- oddly, Rogue wasn't with them. When she asked about that, Logan said only, "She chose to leave the team."

Even as difficult as he was to read, Rachel sensed he didn't agree with that decision. She couldn't bring herself to tell him that Rogue would be back with the X-Men, not when they were trying very hard to change that future.

- X -

_Tomorrow._

Scott looked up at Jean's voice in his head. She stood in the open doorway to his office. Her expression was clear, but the tone of her thought held concern.

_Tomorrow,_ he agreed. _We fight the robot._

_And you die. At least in Rachel's history._

_Not in this one._ He put as much emphasis on it as he could, knowing that it was impossible to lie in a mindlink, but also knowing that he'd taken precautions this time that he hadn't in Rachel's history.

_I did the math, you know._

_What math?_

She came into the office, telekinetically closing the door behind her. _Rachel. She was conceived just days before you died._

He set aside the diagrams for the next upgrades to the Blackbird he'd been reviewing and came around his desk to take her in his arms. _At the boathouse, I think. I guess no birth control is perfect._

She clung to him, and he felt slight tremors quivering in her body. "I don't want to lose you, Scott. I thought I had before, and it was an emptiness like I'd never felt. I don't want to feel that again."

His arms tightened around her. "I felt the same at Alkali Lake, before Kurt saved you. But we're prepared for this. We're going in loaded for bear and ready for a fight. I didn't know to do that in Rachel's history."

"I know." Her voice was muffled against his neck. "I know you've done everything you can. But I also know it's a fight, and you never know how those will turn out." She chuckled just a bit. "I think I'd rather have the school attacked with no warning than have time to think about it."

"Are you saying you want a distraction?"

"I'm saying that if it wasn't the boathouse, we should make sure it's now."


	7. Chapter 7

Jean fought to keep her agitation from bleeding through the light combat link she held. It felt easier than usual, thanks to Charles and Rachel's support, but still it wouldn't do to have her own nerves infect the rest of the team and possibly slow down their reactions. Scott had told her his thoughts the night before, shared in the quiet dark aftermath of love, and she knew he had good points, but that didn't stop her from worrying more than she normally would before a fight.

She felt a hand in hers, looked over at Rachel. At sixteen her daughter -- and it still felt strange to think that -- stood a few inches shorter than she did. _It's okay, Mom. We're all worried for him._

Jean squeezed Rachel's hand, then scanned the studio. The stage area held the host's desk and two smaller desks, one to each side. Three cameras were spaced between the desks and the area where the audience could sit. Most days, she figured, the audience portion sat empty. Today, it was full.

And no surprise, really, given that the topic was whether mutants were dangerous or not. Coming so soon after Alcatraz and Los Angeles -- although the date and topic had been set several months ago -- such a debate was bound to draw a crowd.

_No seats together,_ Kitty observed. _There's two over there, but that's all._

_You take the one closest to the stage,_ Rachel said. _Mom, you and Keith take the two together, and I'll find a place with a good view._

She stepped away without waiting for an answer, and Jean decided this wasn't the best time to pursue the tone in her voice. "Over there," she said to Keith, pointing to the pair of empty seats. Keith wasn't included in the mindlink, by Scott's request.

"He's a non-combatant," Scott had said, "and not used to telepathy, anyway. If he panics, he's worse than useless if he's in the mindlink with us."

Now Jean took her seat next to him and braced for the impact of so many thoughts against her own. Rachel was taking the lead in this, but she still needed to open her own psychic sense as far as she could without overwhelming the combat link.

At the far side of the building, she felt Scott and the professor, two pools of calmness in a sea of turmoil. A topic as polarizing as this one brought the worst of people's thoughts to the forefront, it seemed. Even those who were on their side allowed anger and, yes, even some hate, for those who believed differently than they did.

The only thing that made the pressure of so many negative thoughts bearable was that she didn't have to focus directly on them. She could focus past them, on Logan, Peter, and Bobby, all watchful outside, and even beyond them, to the people on the streets outside. If anything strange were to happen, they'd react first and harshest.

Applause assaulted her ears as the host of the show took his seat, and it took willpower she didn't know she had to keep focused on the minds outside, devoting only a fraction of her attention to him.

"Tonight's topic is a question that some people might think has already been answered," he began when the applause died down. "That being, should mutants be controlled? We've all seen what happened in California, and we can't escape the fear that something like that, or perhaps worse, might happen again. But does that fear justify things like the Mutant Registration Act, or worse?"

He paused a moment to let the audience's reaction to his words subside. "Tonight, we have with us Dr. Bolivar Trask, an anthropologist who argues that controlling mutants is the only way to ensure the survival of the human race. On the opposite side is Dr. Charles Xavier, long a spokesman for mutant rights."

In the momentary lull while the participants took their places, Jean stretched a thought to Scott through their private link, a silent reassurance that he was still there.

- X -

Scott couldn't allow himself the luxury of more than a brief response to Jean's mental touch. Any minute now, if Rachel were right, they'd be in battle. That had to be his focus.

The debate was, like most such things, designed to inflame rather than inform. He'd hoped for better, but wasn't surprised by what he got. Trask was scared, he thought, and rightly so. People like Magneto were people to be afraid of, whether mutant, human, or otherwise. But like so many people, Trask allowed his fear to rule him.

Charles was his usual infuriatingly calm self, refusing to rise to Trask's baited comments. When he agreed that some mutants were very dangerous, Trask exploded.

"How can you admit that and not support the Registration Act?" Trask demanded, his face red with fury.

"Because it's not simply mutants who commit such acts," Charles responded. "Non-mutants have committed unspeakable acts as well. Columbine High School. Virginia Tech. Kent State. The September 11 attacks. The Holocaust. Communist purges. If it were only mutants who did such things, then I might find your argument more compelling. The fact is, the vast majority of mutants are like the vast majority of people, simply wanting to live, work, and raise their families unmolested."

That seemed to have swayed many in the audience to his side, judging by the round of applause, Scott thought. But that would only serve to anger Trask more.

_Be ready,_ he sent to his team. _I think it's going to be soon._

He adjusted his glasses, thankful once again that most people didn't know he had full control of his power without the visor. It was the second of the two advantages they had -- the first being that they knew the attack would happen -- and he wouldn't waste it. Of course, that advantage might disappear after today's attack, but he'd use it as long as he could.

The rest of the team sent acknowledgements, and he felt them intensifying their focus as he returned his attention to Trask, who appeared to have ignored Charles's last words, intent as he was on his own vitriolic points.

Yes, Trask's anger was definitely getting the better of him. Scott winced at the sheer hatred, cloaked in faux concern for his fellow man, spewing from the man's mouth.

"If we don't control mutants, they'll control us," Trask said. "All of the anthropological record demonstrates the conquering of weaker societies by stronger ones. Rome was overcome by the Goths. All of Europe by Napoleon. And if we're not careful, humans by mutants. If we want to survive as a species, it is absolutely imperative that we seize the upper hand now, while we still can."

"The upper hand, perhaps, but not the higher ground," Charles said. "You would condemn all mutants on the grounds of a theory -- which not everyone agrees with -- and on the actions of a few. Is that not the kind of tyranny our ancestors fought against?"

_Something funny happening out here,_ Logan's thought carried clearly through the link. _Got a funny scent._

_And I'm sensing agitated thoughts,_ Rachel added. Jean's agreement echoed through the link.

_This is it, then,_ Scott said. _Wait for it -- we are the defenders here, and we have to look it. We're on live TV._

_And me without my make-up,_ Logan quipped.

_Rachel, get a bit of a shield in front of Charles. Just enough to deflect the blast._

"Sometimes tyranny is a good thing," Trask countered. "When it is the only force that can serve the greater --"

_Incoming!_ Logan's mental warning echoed in the link.

"-- good," Trask finished. "I present to you, the force that will serve the greater good -- Sentinels."

The wall of the studio behind him exploded inward, and people screamed as a robot, perhaps ten to twelve feet tall, burst inside.

_Steady,_ Scott ordered. He felt the tension, the battle-readiness in his team, especially Rachel's urge to fight back _now_.

The robot scanned the stage in the space between heartbeats and raised its hand toward Charles. In its palm, Scott saw a circular inset begin to glow.

_Not yet,_ he sent. _Let it fire. Rachel --?_

Her mental response was tight. _Ready._

And just as she thought it, a beam of force, glowing yellow hot, lanced from the robot's palm toward Xavier.

The blast hit, and Charles's wheelchair flew in one direction while he fell to one side.

_Sorry,_ Rachel sent. _But you wanted us to look like the defenders._

Scott barely acknowledged her comment as the robot advanced on Charles, who lay stunned from the impact. His telepathic prowess would be useless against a robot, so Scott had to act. He yanked his glasses from his face, focused on the Sentinel's face, and let his power free.

The Sentinel paused in its advance, and he saw the oversized head swivel mechanically to face him even as it turned its palm at him rather than Charles. Scott's gut clenched -- this must be the moment he'd died in Rachel's memory.

Not this time.

He turned his power on full -- or what had been full power before he'd taken the control serum a few weeks ago. Now, it felt oddly different. He knew that now his power wasn't just force, but also heat, thanks to an unfortunate encounter with Logan. But this was more than heat, and he wondered just how many layers his power now had. He'd have to ask his brother about that -- later.

Just now, he couldn't risk using it at its full level here, now, so he focused simply on hitting the robot with all the force at his command.

The Sentinel's head shattered like fine crystal dropped from a great height. Its body fell sideways, toward the host's desk and hung, suspended, for a moment before it pivoted and fell backward toward the hole in the back wall of the studio. From the corner of his eye, he saw Jean sit down, relief limning her figure.

He closed his eyes, shutting off his power before it could damage the studio further or -- worse -- any innocent bystanders outside. Oddly, there weren't as many screams as there had been. He opened his eyes to take in the scene before him.

Kitty was getting to her feet behind the host's desk, offering him a hand up. _Teach you to make fun of my Danger Room programs,_ she thought, more to herself than anyone else, but the link carried it to the rest of them.

Chunks of metallic debris hung suspended over the crowd's head -- thanks, no doubt, to Rachel. As he watched, that debris floated aside and settled next to the inert Sentinel.

_I've been keeping the crowd calm enough to avoid a panicked flight,_ Charles sent. _Are you ready for me to let them be?_

_Yes, Professor. And thanks._ Scott settled the glasses back over his eyes. _Has someone called the police?_

_Twelve people grabbed their cell phones,_ Jean said, her mental voice tired but amused. _And that's just inside the studio._

_I hear sirens,_ Logan sent. _Still a few blocks away, though._

Around him, the gathered crowd came back to life, and the host found his microphone. "Are we still on?" Apparently, they were, because he continued, "Dr. Trask, exactly what was that thing, and why did it attack Dr. Xavier?... Dr. Trask? Where is he?"

Before Scott could even think an order to find him, Logan appeared in the hole left by the Sentinel, escorting Trask with a hand firmly clasped around his upper arm. "Lose someone?"

- X -

Trask wasn't dumb enough to answer any questions without speaking to his lawyer -- which at least showed he realized he would be arrested, Jean thought. Once the police had arrived and Scott had told the team they could stand down, she'd clamped her shields firmly back in place. That didn't keep her from picking up Keith's thoughts next to her.

He might not have gotten a scoop on the attack -- hard to beat a live broadcast, after all -- but he would have exclusive interviews with people who were there, including the heroes of the hour, the X-Men.

Heroes of the hour, and if Scott had his way, for far longer than that. She hung back from the cameras while he, Bobby, and Logan spoke to the host, still not certain about this turn the X-Men were taking. She understood his reasons, but that couldn't keep her from looking at it as like an appendectomy, sometimes necessary but rarely pleasant.

The cell phone at her hip vibrated, and she answered without checking the display. "Jean Grey."

"Jean -- are you all right? Charles? Scott?" It was Hank McCoy's voice, full of concern.

"We're all fine, Hank. Or don't you believe what the television shows you?" She couldn't help teasing him.

"They've quoted me out of context too many times for me to believe them unconditionally," Hank replied. "What happened?"

"Unprovoked attack. Among other things. You're going to be busy with this one, I'm afraid. And we'll have to give you the full story."

He didn't miss her slight emphasis on _full_. "Perhaps you could join me in Washington sometime in the next few days? I do need to talk to you on a matter of some importance."

"Tomorrow? If it's urgent."

"Not urgent. Just important. After you've cleaned up that mess there."

"Oh, it'll be a while in the cleaning."

"No doubt," Hank said, his tone dry. "Considering my office's phones are already ringing off the hook."

"They will be for days," Jean said. "We're going completely public."

Hank was quiet so long Jean thought she'd lost the connection. Then, "That should be interesting."

Which, Jean reflected, was typical of a diplomat. "I'll check with Scott and let you know when we can come down."

"Just you."

"Just me?" It was a sign of her shock that she repeated what he'd said.

"Yes. You'll understand why when we talk." His tone said he wouldn't discuss it further right now.

He was her oldest friend. There was nothing else she could say but, "Then I'll call you tomorrow to make arrangements."


	8. Chapter 8

I still don't own them; I'm just borrowing them for a while.

X X X X X

_What good is a secret passage that doesn't open when you want it to?_

Logan scowled at the section of paneled wall he'd just tried to open. Peter had told them of the escape through the tunnels when Stryker attacked the school, and that the students hadn't been able to get the secret panel open by themselves. Peter's own armored strength had been needed.

Logan didn't want to think what might have happened if Stryker's men had found them while they were trying to open it.

He dropped a towel on the floor, then put the toolbox he carried on the towel. No sense inviting Xavier's wrath for scratching the hardwood when the mansion had just been repaired. He set himself, then hit the panel as hard as he could. With a creak and groan, the panel slid upward, revealing the tunnels behind.

With a grumble, he pulled a flashlight from the toolbox and ducked into the tunnel to inspect the tracks and wheels.

Dirt and spider webs gumming up the tracks needed to be removed first. With a flathead screwdriver, he began scraping the accumulated dirt from the tracks. The soft rasp of metal against metal couldn't disguise the sound of footsteps approaching.

"Logan?"

"Yeah." He glanced at Kitty in acknowledgment, then returned to the task at hand.

"That research you asked me about -- I have some information for you."

"What'd you find?" He sneezed, renewed the assault on dirt caked on with petroleum-based lubricant with greater force.

"Y'know, they make these things called dust masks for a reason," Kitty said.

"Tried 'em. They don't help much. Best just to power through it and get it over with. What'd you find?"

She dropped to sit cross-legged on the floor next to the toolbox he'd left in the hallway. At least she could hand him things when he needed them. "Lieutenant James Logan, U.S. Army, 195th Infantry Brigade, served in Vietnam from 1965 through 1971. He was awarded the Silver Star, the Bronze Star, two Army Commendation Medals, and at least three Purple Hearts."

"At least three?" He pried up one small pebble that had gotten jammed in the tracks. "Don't they know?"

"Actually, no. In Vietnam, like Korea and World War Two before it, the Purple Heart was frequently awarded on the spot, and an official note might or might not be made in the records later. And sometimes there were bedside presentations, when a general might visit a hospital and give the Heart to all the wounded soldiers, with no record --"

"I get the idea."

"Right, sorry." Kitty took a breath, and he saw her glance down at a sheaf of papers in her hand before she continued, "The 195th received several unit awards, too, including the Meritorious Unit Commendation and the Valorous Unit Award."

"Sounds like they were busy."

"They did their job very well, by all accounts. And James Logan returned home in 1971, after his tour was up, as a war hero and a spokesman for the war effort, so I was able to find pictures in archived newspapers."

"Pictures?" That got his attention, and he set the screwdriver and brush he'd been using aside.

"Uh-huh. You owe me fifty dollars for archive access fees." He didn't care whether she was joking or not, just held out his hand.

The face that greeted him was his own, exactly his own, down to the last laugh line at his eyes, though cleaner-shaven than he was now. The picture had been snapped indoors, so he could see that his hair was cropped almost military close. He wore a uniform and appeared to be addressing a group of people.

_I did public speaking? Huh._

He skimmed a bit of the article beneath the picture. "Don't start a war you don't intend to win," it quoted him as saying. "We can debate whether or not we should've started this war, but now that we have, we should win it."

He set the picture and article aside to read later. "So what did you find out about him -- me?"

He congratulated himself that his voice came out steady. Jean had said there was no telling how old he was, once, and now it seemed certain that he'd served in the army nearly fifty years before. How old was he?

"He -- you -- spoke to a lot of people about the war effort until June of 1972." She paused and when he just shrugged and picked up the screwdriver again, she added, "The Watergate scandal broke then."

"What's that got to do with speaking out against the war? And hand me that can of compressed air, willya?"

"Maybe nothing. Maybe a lot." Kitty handed him the compressed air, and scooted back a bit from the passage entrance. "The scandal rocked the country. I mean, rocked. Nowadays, you can't go a month without some scandal, real or pretend. But Watergate was the first, and maybe the worst. I don't know. What I do know is that after Watergate, the tone of the public discourse about Vietnam changed."

"How so?" He took a deep breath, then sprayed the compressed air along the tracks, aiming as much into the tunnel as he could.

"After Watergate -- well, I get the feeling people just wanted everything to go back to being normal. The Munich massacre later that year just made that feeling stronger. And normal meant not at war. So the peace activists, who had been something of a fringe voice, ended up carrying the day."

He let out the breath he'd been holding, managed not to sneeze. "So I wasn't very popular then."

"I don't know. You disappeared."

"Huh?" Logan picked up a can of silicone-based lubricant and sprayed the tracks thoroughly.

"I couldn't find anything about you -- well, the Lieutenant Logan you -- after June of '72."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing."

He stood and rolled the panel back into place, then up again from inside the tunnel. It moved more smoothly than it had before. Now to test whether it could be opened from the hallway.

"I'd guess," Kitty said when he stepped into the hallway, "that you had an idea what was coming, and just moved on."

"Bread and circuses," Logan muttered. "Serious topics get lost in the distraction of the moment. As true now as it's ever been."

He closed the panel, and depressed the concealed switch that should've raised it when Stryker attacked.

It rose, but slowly.

"Seventy-two had some pretty big distractions," Kitty observed. "Strange that you just disappeared with no record, though. You were a bit of a celebrity, after all."

Logan paused, flashlight in hand. Something tickled at his awareness. "Say that again."

"What, that it's strange you disappeared without a trace?"

"No, the rest."

"You were a bit of a celebrity?" Kitty sounded confused.

He couldn't blame her, not when he was confused himself. Memory hinted at its presence, but all he could say was, "It's dangerous to be a celebrity."

"You haven't objected to Scott's plan to make the X-Men celebrities," Kitty said as she got to her feet.

"Easier now," Logan responded immediately. "We're mutants, that explains why we're different. Why I'm different."

Cameras, he thought. There'd been too many cameras on him, and more would only come as time passed. That's why he'd left, he knew with sudden certainty, to avoid the cameras. It didn't explain where he'd gone or what had happened since, but at least he knew why he'd left.

"Sorry I couldn't find more."

"It's okay, Punkin," he said, and impulsively pulled her into a hug. "You found more than I had before, and maybe it'll shake more stuff loose."

"Glad to help." She hugged him back. "At least with the research. You can repair wood panels on your own."

"I'm gonna have to look for swollen wood and sand it down. It's a one-person job, so you won't be drafted to help."

"If you need any more research done, let me know."

She didn't wait for an answer, just left her notes beside the toolbox and started down the hallway. He liked that she seemed to know when words would only get in the way.

Words waited for him in the papers she'd left, but right now he could focus on the simple pleasure of labor, and let his mind absorb what she'd told him. After, when he focused on words again, he'd see what happened.

- X -

"I thought you weren't going to take my blood."

Jean smiled at the bald young boy sitting on the exam table. "I told you that at Alcatraz, Jimmy. This isn't Alcatraz."

He sighed. "Everybody wants to take my blood."

While she was in range of Jimmy's mutant ability to nullify other mutant powers, Jean had to rely on her observational skills to judge his mood, instead of her telepathic sense. "You know why, right?"

"Because my blood can help other people."

It was true, as far as it went, but Jean figured the simple explanation sufficed for the moment. "Exactly. While you were at Alcatraz, Dr. Rao and her team figured out how to make a serum from your blood."

"Why don't you just get some from them?" Jimmy asked. "How come you have to take more?"

"Because," Jean said as she slipped the needle into his vein, "I'm looking for something other than what they were."

"And what might that be?" She jumped at the sound of Keith Stephens' voice from the doorway. Without her telepathy, she hadn't sensed his approach.

"Last year, Worthington Labs published some preliminary findings for a serum that would help mutants control their abilities," she said while the vial filled with dark red blood. "They eventually said nothing came of it, that the preliminary findings were off."

"And?" Keith prompted. He stood well back so he wouldn't be in the way.

"And now, given the suppression serum that Dr. Rao produced, I'm not so sure the other serum is a wild good chase." She knew for a fact that it wasn't -- it was that very serum that allowed Scott to control his power without the glasses, and that had enabled Marie to touch for the first time in a year. "Pressure there, Jimmy," she said as she pulled the needle out of his arm and pressed cotton gauze over the puncture site.

"Yeah, I know. Pressure, and raise the arm above my head." Jimmy did what he said as he explained it.

"You're an old pro at this," Jean teased.

"I figure I'll get even better."

No twelve-year-old should sound so resigned, she thought, and she rested a hand on his shoulder, bent over to look him in the eye. "Not too much better," she assured him. "Not with me, anyway."

Jimmy shrugged. "You'll keep taking more and more, just like Dr. Kat did."

"I have an advantage Dr. Rao didn't," Jean said as she bandaged the puncture site on his arm. "I don't have to do all the trial and error she did. I just need to synthesize some of the compounds that make you unique. I can work from that."

"We'll see. Am I done?"

"All done." Jean smiled as he hopped down from the exam table and nearly ran from the room, barely dodging around Keith Stephens in the process. She couldn't quite resist levitating the vial of Jimmy's blood over to the refrigerator, opening the fridge, and depositing the vial inside with her telekinesis.

"Proving it still works?" Keith crossed into the room, sat on the exam table Jimmy had just vacated. "If I understand correctly, you were affected by his power dampening ability while you worked with him just now, right?"

"Something like that," Jean admitted. "And yes, I was affected."

"How does it feel, when you're with him? Not to have your powers?"

Jean paused in her cleanup of the miscellany used to draw Jimmy's blood. "It's -- sudden silence. You're in a crowded room, and everybody's talking, and then it's gone, and you can only hear one or two people, as though from far away."

Keith raised an eyebrow. "That's not an analogy I'd expect to go with telekinesis."

Jean cursed silently. She'd gone to great lengths over the years not to advertise her telepathy to anyone outside the school, and now she'd just let it slip to a reporter, of all people. Sure, he was a reporter that her daughter loved like a father, but still he was a reporter.

"It's not the telekinesis, is it?" His quiet voice echoed in the stark modern infirmary. Jean had always wanted a more traditional office look, but Charles had insisted on state-of-the-art equipment, and that meant an ultra-modern look.

"Not just telekinesis," Jean answered reluctantly.

"It's off the record, just between us, if you want it to be."

With Jimmy gone, Jean could read Keith's intent. He meant what he said, and she wanted to believe him, though she doubted it ever could be that simple. She let out a breath. "I'm a telepath, as well. Not as strong as some," she added quickly. "It's a secondary mutation, the telekinesis is much stronger."

She waited for it, for the moment of panic that most non-mutants had when they realized a telepath was in their midst. _Oh, God, she's reading my thoughts. What am I thinking? What's she going to read? Is she going to find out about that time with Barbara in the bathroom at camp?_

It didn't come. "I can see why you wouldn't want to tell a lot of people that."

Jean knew she stared at him too long when he shrugged. "I read a lot of science fiction as a kid, it's what got me interested in science in the first place. And there's some good stuff out there about telepathy. I read a lot, thought about it a lot."

Jean felt the tension between her shoulder blades relaxing. "What did you think?"

"That it must be cool to be able to do that, but everybody else is scared of it."

"I'd say more that most people want to be able to do it, but not have it done to them," Jean countered.

"That sounds like a long conversation." Keith smiled at her. "And maybe a weblog entry sometime -- no reference to living, breathing telepaths necessary."

"Thanks." Jean let the single word convey many layers of meaning, trusting that Keith would pick up the ones that were important to him, if not the ones important to her.

"What makes you so sure the control serum isn't a dud? I read the original articles, and it seemed kind of far-fetched to me."

And now he'd asked a question she could never answer honestly, ever. But she'd known that since she first met Magneto in Central Park and he'd given her the real data from Worthington Laboratories, so she'd had time to think of a plausible answer.

"We already know the suppression serum works," she said. "A control serum is just a variation of suppression, at its heart -- temporary suppression, reversible suppression. I think it's worth looking into. We've had students here over the years who couldn't control their abilities, but who didn't want to lose them forever, as the suppression serum requires. I want to give them the choice."

"So they can live like normal people?" Keith asked.

"No," Jean replied. "So they can have normal lives."

- X -

"You're packing?"

Alex Summers detoured to give Lorna Dane a brief kiss before continuing to the dresser for underwear. "I have to deliver some test results. I won't be more than a day or two."

"You can't. Not now."

Alex paused, a short stack of white cotton in his hands. "Why not?"

She looked torn, he thought, and then said, "I've just gotten home from my grandfather's funeral."

He tossed the underwear in the open suitcase on the bed and went to put his arms around her. "I know, Lor, I know. But this can't wait."

"I need you." Her voice was muffled against his chest, but strong.

"I don't know what for," he said, trying to keep his voice light and not sure whether he'd succeeded. "You took off a couple of weeks ago with barely a goodbye. Then you called me a couple of days later to tell me you'd had a family emergency, and then you called to say your grandfather had died. You told me those things, but you never asked me to join you. I don't even know where you went."

She let out a sigh, and he stroked her hair with one hand. It might not have been the smartest thing to say, but it was honest, the one thing his father had taught him to be.

"Parkfield," she said. "I was in Parkfield, California. But that doesn't explain why these results can't wait."

"They're for Scott."

It was all the explanation needed. They'd talked that night, the night the X-Men had attacked Magneto in Los Angeles. His brother, Scott, led the X-Men as Cyclops, and Alex had shared his amazement with Lorna by phone. She'd needed the distraction, she said, so they'd talked about the X-Men, and the assault, and he'd told her he hadn't known his big brother was capable of so much.

Then what she'd said hit him. "Parkfield? That's along the San Andreas. Is everyone okay?"

Magneto had managed to separate a good chunk of California from the mainland by manipulating the San Andreas. Maybe it was good Lorna hadn't told him where she was before now -- if she had, he would've been a quivering mass of nerves.

"Outside Parkfield," she corrected. "We were all fine, really. Just shook up a bit."

She wasn't telling him everything. He knew her well enough to read that in her eyes, her voice. "You can tell me, you know that. I wasn't there, but I can listen."

"No, you can't, not if you've got a plane to catch." Lorna sounded reasonable, but Alex again had the feeling that there was something she wasn't saying. "So you should keep packing," she continued, "and you can tell me just what kind of research is sending you to see your brother -- you know, the one you haven't spoken to in ten years?"

"Two weeks."

"What?"

He let her go, turned toward the closet for shirts and pants. "Two weeks. Scott came to see me while you were gone -- not long after you left, actually."

"And you talked to him?" Now she sounded truly surprised.

"I talked to him. He said his powers had changed, and he needed to know how they'd changed."

"Why come to you? I mean, no offense, we're both good at geophysics, but wouldn't a biologist or maybe a geneticist be more useful?"

Alex folded his slacks and put them on top of the underwear. "That's what I asked him. But his powers are more physical in nature, solar physics, actually, so he said a physicist was better."

"So why you? Ten years of nothing, and suddenly this?"

"Long story." And even now Alex wasn't certain he knew or understood all of the reasons Scott had called him that morning. "But family is family, blood is thicker than water, and all that. Maybe he figured Dad would tan my hide if I didn't help him."

That made Lorna chuckle, at least a little, though her eyes still looked haunted. "And you're delivering the results now? When the fight's over?"

"He still needs to know." He absolutely had to know, Alex thought, but he couldn't share that with Lorna. He wouldn't violate his brother's privacy, even to her.

"I'd like to meet him, sometime."

It was his turn to be surprised. "You would?"

"Well, yeah," Lorna lounged onto the bed, rested her head on a hand. If she weren't still serious, the position would be an invitation. "Cute as you are, plus he's the one who killed Magneto. Why wouldn't I want to meet him?"

"Maybe I shouldn't introduce you," Alex teased and dropped a kiss on her forehead as he started toward the bathroom. "If you think he's that cute and all."

"Ha. You know you're the only one for me, Alex. Always have been."

He threw the small bag of toiletries in the suitcase, bent to give her a real kiss. "And don't you forget it."

"I do want to meet him, though. If you're talking to him after this visit, that is."

"We'll see," was all he'd agree to.

-X-

Lorna watched until Alex's car disappeared around the corner at the end of the street. Why, after her resolve in Parkfield, did she now feel so shaken? Why was she regretting her chosen path? Why was she bothering to acknowledge the voice inside that suggested she might not want to do this?

_Because you're weak,_ she told herself with less force than she would've wished, less force than her grandfather would've used. _You can't waver from this path. Grandpa would expect nothing else._

But what about Alex?

That was the question she couldn't answer, and again she chided herself for her lack of resolve. She'd helped her grandfather create a refuge for mutants, even knowing that many people would die as a result. Why did she hesitate now, at the thought of Alex's grief?

Her grandfather had said once that Charles Xavier was too weak to do what needed to be done. Xavier had held his people back from killing, when a single death would've accomplished his goals. "We must never be that weak," Grandpa said. "It is right to grieve, but not to let grief sway our resolve."

Lorna straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin. That's what she was about to do -- to allow grief for Alex's future loss to prevent her from doing what must be done. She couldn't. She wouldn't.

Before weakness could claim her once again, she picked up her phone and punched in a number.

"Thank you for calling the Hellfire Club." The receptionist's voice was smooth and cultured, and Lorna almost cut her off with, "I need to leave a message for Mr. Shaw. My name is Lorna Dane, and I'm Eric Lensherr's granddaughter."


	9. Chapter 9

Rachel should be happier.

They'd stopped the attack two days ago. Trask was under arrest. Charles Xavier was still alive. More selfishly, her father was still alive.

But instead of being happy, Rachel felt out of sorts. Her parents had agreed that she wouldn't gain anything by joining classes for a week that was mostly review, but it meant that she had no company this week. The younger X-Men were studying for finals, and the adults were busy with press interviews and the aftermath of the fight at the studio. So she wandered the downstairs corridor, waiting for classes to end for the day. It was too much to hope that any of the students would talk to her, but maybe she could help grade papers.

She couldn't help grimacing at the thought of grading papers. Her own education had been based in practicalities and frequently she learned through a mindlink with her mother or one of the other X-Men. But helping Ororo grade papers would at least keep her occupied.

A wash of unprotected, angry thoughts rocked her back on her heels, followed by an unfamiliar male voice. "You've always been inconsiderate, but this is a new low."

In the breath before anyone replied, she opened her psychic sense and then scowled when she realized who it was. William and Madeline Drake. Parents of Bobby, and in her memory, advocates of the Mutant Registration Act after Project Wideawake went live.

Her fists clenched at her sides, and she moved closer to the door to the east conference room.

"That's the first time I've ever heard saving lives called inconsiderate." Bobby's voice was low and cold, but not as controlled as her father's would've been. "That robot would've killed Professor Xavier and Mr. Summers and God only knows how many other people."

"You've ruined our lives." The female voice had to be Madeline Drake. "How could you expose yourself like that?"

"Should I have let people die? At the studio? At Los Angeles? At Alcatraz?"

Rachel had a moment's admiration for Bobby. She'd half-expected him to have already encased his parents in ice.

"Why were you there in the first place?" His father demanded. "This is a school."

"It's also the home of the X-Men." Pride rang in Bobby's voice, and Rachel wanted to cheer. "I didn't have to become an X-Man. I chose to."

"You can choose not to be." His mother sounded hopeful.

"Why?" Bobby asked. "As an X-Man, I'm doing something that matters."

"Risking your entire family in the process," his father snapped.

Rachel raised one clenched fist to her mouth, bit on it. Their anger would've been easier to take if it hadn't been so selfish at its core.

"I didn't exactly have time to call and ask your permission," Bobby said. "Besides, when you threw me out, I figured you didn't care."

"We didn't throw you out." His father sounded definite, but Rachel felt the raw truth of Bobby's words roiling beneath that false certainty.

"You sure as hell didn't defend me when the police showed up."

Rachel never heard what his parents said in response. Her own anger roared in her ears, crouched in her stomach like a lion about to attack, all its attention focused on its prey.

It was people like Bobby's parents who had allowed her future to happen -- so wrapped up in their own petty concerns that they would cheerfully allow the world to go to hell on an express train, as long as their lives weren't inconvenienced. They didn't care what happened to anyone who wasn't like them, and their definition of "like them" was very narrow.

"Thank God there's only a week left before you graduate," Madeline Drake's words brought Rachel's attention back to the present. "Then you'll go to MIT and when you graduate there, you'll come back home where you belong."

"I'll decide where I belong, Mom."

"You belong with your family," William Drake said. "You need to take your place in society."

Rachel could feel the glare Bobby gave his father. "Some people think I have no place because I'm a mutant."

"If you just weren't so public about it, everything would be fine." Madeline's conciliatory tone sent the lion into full attack mode, and Rachel was inside the conference room before she consciously decided it.

"Have you been listening to yourselves?" she demanded. "Are you not capable of looking outside of your own narrow minds?"

"Who are you?" William Drake demanded.

"I'm the person who's going to be hurt by your casual indifference," Rachel said. "You don't give a damn about anyone but yourselves, and if someone like me, someone you don't even know, is hurt or killed because of it, that's just fine."

"How dare you," Madeline said. "We care. We give to charity."

"Yes -- you give from a safe distance. You've never been to a soup kitchen or a homeless shelter and seen it firsthand, have you?" They hadn't. It was as clear in their thoughts as it was in their expressions. "I was there. I saw what it's like when people are apathetic. Good people doing nothing is the worst evil, and you two embody that. No, you exude it."

"Who is this?" Willam demanded, looking at Bobby.

"This is Rachel," Bobby said. "She's..." he glanced at her, and she gave a small shrug. It didn't matter how he explained her. "She's from the future, and it's not pretty."

"It's not pretty because people like you sat back and let it happen." Her words hadn't changed them, she knew, but the lion was appeased, for the moment. It was time for reason to rule. "You let it happen," she repeated, "but I won't let it happen again."

She stepped closer to the elder Drakes, focused her psychic sense on them. "Your son's a hero, and you haven't even realized that. But you will."

It was insultingly easy to slide into their thoughts and give them the truth of their son, that he was one of the ones you counted on to get the job done -- once he knew what that job was. And he would make the ultimate sacrifice -- and had, in her memory -- for a cause he deemed worthy.

_Take some pride in your son,_ she said deep into their subconscious. _You don't have to agree with him, or even like what he does, but show a little pride in the man he is._

"Everything okay in here?"

It was a sign of how focused she'd been that Rachel hadn't sensed Logan's approach. She withdrew from the Drakes' minds quickly and shrugged. Logan felt ready for a fight.

"I don't know," Bobby answered. His sense was wary, and Rachel supposed it should be.

"It's Mr. Logan, right?" Madeline said. "The art teacher?"

"Something like that." Logan's tone wasn't cordial, but the Drakes didn't appear to notice.

"Everything's fine," William said. "We were just telling Bobby we saw him on TV."

"Uh-huh. Long as it's okay." He dropped a hand on Rachel's shoulder, and she got the message even without an accompanying thought. It was time to go.

She let him lead her out of the conference room and didn't protest as he continued to the kitchen.

"They weren't just telling him they saw him on TV, were they?"

Rachel shook her head.

"Didn't think so. Yelling too loud for it to be that." Logan leaned against the island, arms crossed over his chest. "You change their minds?"

"You weren't there," Rachel said. "You don't know what it was like. And it was people like them that made it happen."

"That's why you came back, to change it. People got a right to their own opinions, Rachel."

She drew a breath, ready to defend her action, but he shook his head. "What, no lecture?"

"Lectures aren't my style," he grinned. "I always prefer the direct approach to problem-solving. Your mom and dad might not agree."

She knew they wouldn't. "Guess I'll get the lecture from them, then."

"Not Jeannie." He straightened and crossed to the fridge.

"Why not Mom?"

"Cause we're driving to DC today." His voice was muffled briefly by the open refrigerator, but he emerged moments later with a pair of sodas. "She's having lunch with the furball, and I've got other business there. We'll be back tonight."

And that was why she loved him, always had. He always accepted her for who she was, even when he didn't agree with it. She itched to let him know, somehow, even though he didn't have the same memories she did.

Rachel gave in to the impulse and threw her arms around him in a hug. "Thanks for not lecturing me."

He started, but gave her a one-armed hug in return. "Anytime."

"See you when you get back." She let him go and stepped back. He hadn't given any outward sign, but in one of the rare moments when she could read him, she knew he'd felt the same attraction she had when they touched.

- X -

Corsair's message had been terse. "No luck getting you into an office," he'd said. "But we've got no jurisdiction over their homes."

Two addresses had followed, and Jean's trip to Washington to see Hank McCoy had come at a very convenient time. Her Toyota wasn't as much fun to drive as Scott's Mazda, but it had more trunk space, and he opted for that as a precaution against whatever he might find.

So Logan had dropped Jean at the building that housed the Department of Mutant Affairs, visited Stryker's apartment and come up empty, and now pulled into a parking space in front of an apartment building in Arlington. He'd thought such things only happened in movies, but midafternoon on a weekday apparently meant that the streets were emptier than usual.

He found the apartment without difficulty and paused a moment before inserting a claw into the lock. It felt disrespectful to just break in, and he'd considered bringing Kitty along to phase him into and out of the apartment, but in the end he'd discarded that idea. He wanted to be alone for this.

He forced the lock and stepped inside, shoving the door closed behind him. For a moment, he simply stood there, inhaling deeply. There was Yuriko's scent, faint but permeating, and a whiff of Stryker and one other he didn't recognize. Maybe someone who'd helped Stryker subdue Yuriko? Logan had no doubt that Yuriko had been subdued, somehow, that she didn't willingly allow Stryker to control her. She would've served Stryker of her own will to restore her honor, done whatever he'd ordered however distasteful she personally found it, but she would not have consented to that much control over her.

Sight followed scent, and he noted the simplicity of furnishings -- table, chair, comfortable chair, small television on a stand, shelving units filled with books in Japanese and English, as well as four leather storage boxes. He'd start with those.

Each box measured somewhat more than a foot on each side and stood about eight inches tall. Not a lot to measure a normal life by, let alone one like Yuriko's, he mused, and lifted the lid of the first box.

A swath of dark blue, almost black, silk greeted him, and he lifted it out of the box with care, for once grateful that his healing ability prevented calluses from forming and therefore snagging this fabric. It unfolded to the width of his palm and longer than he was tall, but it brought no memories, not even a tingle at his awareness, so he set it aside.

Beneath the silk lay a number of small items wrapped in other bits of silk, and he opened several to reveal things for which he had a name but no recognition. An ivory netsuke, hooked on both ends, one end carved like a Buddha emerged first, followed by a boxlike object called an inro. Then the brush and ink set -- yatate. They all felt familiar in his hand, and he instinctively placed the yatate back into the inro that had been made for it, and attached it to the length of silk -- a belt called an obi, he knew now -- with the netsuke. That felt right, and he looked at the simple arrangement for long moments before setting it aside and moving on to the remaining boxes.

The second box contained sheets of paper, some covered with symbols he assumed were Japanese kana, others with simple brush and ink drawings. The third box contained a small collection of leather-bound journals, in a mix of Japanese and English and a few other languages he didn't recognize. The final box contained several framed photographs of Yuriko, some of which looked to be decades old.

With care, almost reverence, Logan returned the items to their original wrappings and boxes and replaced the lids before stacking the boxes neatly at the end of the table. Awareness tickled his senses -- these things, or most of them, had meaning to him, so he would take them. He thought he should feel guilty for what was, in effect, theft, but his gut told him that Yuriko would not object even if she were still alive.

The rest of her apartment beckoned, and he moved down a short hallway past a tidy, almost Spartan, bathroom, and into the single bedroom.

A sisal rug covered the floor, and a single futon mattress with a light duvet covering was tucked into a corner. On the wall at the foot of the futon stood a tansu chest, and on top of the chest --

His breath caught as he took in the pair of swords -- daisho -- resting on a carved wooden stand. Both the longer katana and the shorter wakizashi were cased in black with a dragon emblazoned in a gold that matched the stitching on the obi he'd examined earlier. As though caught in some dreamlike trance, he moved forward, stretched out a hand to clasp the sheath.

Its weight felt familiar in his hand, and he drew the blade with one long motion.

The ceiling was too low for him to do the eight-directional cut known as happo-giri, but he swung the blade low, horizontally, a few times, testing its balance. Other katanas he'd held were short, not even three feet long, making them feel almost like toys in his hand. This one, though, felt right, almost as if it had been forged especially for him.

Certainty froze him where he stood, the katana extended sideways to his body.

This katana, an odachi -- long sword -- had been made for him, specifically because he was so much taller than most Japanese men. And more, it had been made at Yuriko's request and instruction.

No memories accompanied his sudden certainty other than a vague image of himself in a kimono, wearing the obi he'd seen in the other room, when Yuriko presented him with the daisho.

If he'd harbored any doubts about taking Yuriko's things before, that certainty demolished them. They were hers, yes, but they were his by right as her husband.

Husband?

"Yuriko?" The question called from the living room cut short that train of thought and memory.

The katana still held loosely in his hand, he strode casually down the hall, as though he had every right to be here. Which he did, although he couldn't prove it to anyone but himself.

A middle-aged man, balding, looked up, wary. "You're not Yuriko."

Logan had to grin. "No. I'm --" he couldn't quite bring himself to say "her husband," and settled on, "I'm her next of kin."

"Next of --" the man's eyes widened. "She's dead?"

"I'm sorry," Logan said. The man seemed genuinely grief-struck. "You a friend?"

"Neighbors for five years. Robert Brownell." He held out his hand and Logan shook it.

"Logan."

"I should let you get back to what you're doing," Brownell said. "If I can help…?"

Logan shook his head. "Thanks, but I won't be much longer."

Brownell nodded and left, leaving Logan trying to recapture the gossamer images the katana had stirred.

Memory, it seemed, was more stubborn than he was, and after a few moments, he gave up and returned to the bedroom to replace the katana on its stand. The daisho and the four leather boxes would easily fit into the trunk of Jean's car, as would the futon and coverlet. Those things held Yuriko; the rest was just furniture, impersonal and easily replaced.

He folded the futon over the daisho and their stand to protect them, then carried that bundle to the living room and arranged the leather boxes on top of the folded cushion. The coverlet wrapped around the entire bundle.

With a last look around, he hefted the pack over his shoulder and left the apartment.

- X -

Jean had to smile when she saw Hank McCoy sitting in the Corner Bar of the Old Ebbitt Grill. She hadn't seen him since just after the fight at Alcatraz, and when he rose from his chair, he moved with his usual grace instead of the stiffness that cracked ribs wrapped in tape brought.

"You are evil," she told him as she kissed his cheek.

"Why am I evil?" He held her chair for her as she sat.

"Bringing me here, where their crab cakes are to die for, and I don't have room for those and the shrimp salad, which is also to die for. Decisions, decisions."

He laughed and resumed his own seat across from her. She spared a moment to savor the view of the National Treasury -- its neoclassical architecture, like that of so many of the buildings in the capital, always soothed her in ways the giant skyscrapers of other cities never could.

"If that were the only evil we ever had to contend with, I would be pleased." Hank spread his napkin over his lap, a refined gesture that some would think him incapable of, just because of his blue and furry appearance.

"Welcome to the Ebbitt." The young man in the crisp white shirt and black pants had appeared by their side almost by magic. Or, Jean thought, amused, perhaps he had a mutant gift for stealth. "Will you be wanting your usual, Mr. Secretary?"

"Yes, Evan. Jean, have you decided between your two temptations?"

Jean laughed. "Crab cakes. Always. And iced tea."

The server, Evan, nodded, took their menus, and disappeared as easily as he'd appeared.

"So -- important, but not urgent, and you're willing to talk about it in public." Jean sat forward and rested her forearms on the desk. "My curiosity's been through the roof."

Hank was silent until their drinks arrived. "They're well known for their speedy service," he said. "I judged it best to wait a moment."

She just nodded, cocking her head to encourage him. He was her oldest friend, and she knew he had other reasons for hesitating. Those would come out soon enough.

He took a sip of his lemonade, and her memory gave her pictures of him when he was younger, not long after they'd both come to the mansion. He'd loved fruit punch then, and she'd teased him about the purple mustache it made along his upper lip. She stifled a chuckle on a sip of iced tea.

"What?" he asked.

"Just being glad that yellow and blue don't make green like red and blue make purple," she said. He blinked at her owlishly, and when he didn't get it immediately, she pushed a memory at him, and he smiled.

"The joys and dangers of old friends," he said with a lift of his glass to her. Then he sobered. "I suppose it's best simply to get to the point."

She waited while he took another sip and set his glass above the knife with almost Scott-like precision. Then he lifted his eyes to hers. She didn't remember seeing him so serious in a long time. "I had a meeting with the president on Tuesday, just before the debate. He's nominating me as Ambassador to the United Nations."

"Congratulations," Jean said. Then she frowned. "Even after the debate?"

"Especially after the debate," Hank said. "What happened there was unforgivable, and General Trask has been answering questions about his brother."

"I don't like witch hunts, Hank. For obvious reasons."

"This isn't," Hank sounded certain, and the certainty echoed in his mind. "But the general has a sensitive position, and one that brings him into contact with mutants on a regular basis. With his level of clearance, some questions are to be expected. And they would be asked of anyone at that level in a similar circumstance."

"I'll take your word for it. Dealing with clearances and such is still new to me. All I've ever had to do is get a speaker's pass for the Senate."

"But if I'm confirmed, someone will have to replace me as Secretary of Mutant Affairs."

Jean nodded -- it made sense that he'd ask her opinions. Between her testimony for the Senate and his own diplomatic work, they'd met most of the same people, and she couldn't help picking up telepathic impressions that might be relevant.

"For obvious reasons," Hank continued, "President McKenna wants a mutant in the office."

"That does make sense, yes," Jean said. "But it narrows the field considerably. The first one who comes to mind is Charles, of course."

"Of course," Hank agreed. "But his telepathy is off the charts. Any telepathy makes people nervous, as you well know, but his --" Hank shook his head. "No one would talk to him, for fear of invasion of privacy."

Jean sighed. "Telekinesis is kind of cool, in a _Poltergeist_-y way. Telepathy makes everyone nervous. It's why I don't generally advertise it. In that case, what about Larry Bodine? He has a totally benign mutation, after all."

Whatever Hank had been going to say was delayed by the arrival of Evan with, "Your crab cakes, ma'am. And your burger, Mr. Secretary."

He was good enough at his job that he glanced between her and Hank, realized that serious conversation was happening, and said only, "Let me know if you need anything," before vanishing again.

"I was thinking of you, actually," Hank said.

Jean paused with her knife poised above the crab cakes, and it was her turn to say _Tell you later, weirdness abounds,_ when Scott's presence in her mind came alert.

Hank had focused his attention on her so it was difficult not to pick up the sincerity behind his words. "Why me?" she asked. "The last time I was here, I fell flat on my face testifying before the Senate. That can't inspire any confidence."

"You weren't out for blood," Hank said. "But that's one reason it works in your favor. Kelly wanted to win, and so he set you up to fail. He played to the audience, and it worked. You didn't return blow for blow, which we both know you could've done if you'd wanted to. Such restraint is critical as a cabinet secretary."

Now that was a diplomat speaking, Jean thought. "Thanks, Hank, but I don't need it sugarcoated. I blew it."

"I won't try to convince you otherwise," he said. "But the president was impressed by how you handled it. When we were discussing my replacement, your name was the first he suggested."

Finally Jean cut off a piece of crab cake, chewing it to give her time to think. She swallowed and said, "I'm a telepath, too."

"But not off the charts. Your telekinesis is omega level, but not your telepathy. You've been keeping that quiet, and most people have assumed you either don't have it or it's very mild or uncontrolled."

"They think uncontrolled telepathy is a good thing?"

"They don't know any better. But I meant, they think you just pick things up randomly, that you can't go digging into their minds."

"So just based on one disappointing episode, the president thinks I should be Secretary of Mutant Affairs?"

"Not just based on that," Hank said. He took a bite himself, and once he'd swallowed, said, "You have knowledge of mutation, scientific knowledge and personal knowledge. Your own, of course, and also the students at the school. You know firsthand, and better than most, what issues are facing mutants in the real world."

"And I have precisely no diplomatic experience."

"Which may be your best asset."

Jean knew her expression reflected her skepticism. Why bother hiding it? "I have to say, Hank, you're not being very encouraging."

That drew another smile. "It's not the most pleasant job available. I can't in honesty pitch it as though it were."

"Fair enough, I suppose." Just the thought of it still had her reeling. Her -- a cabinet secretary? She'd never considered that as a possibility when she'd enrolled in college, first as a biology and genetics major and then in medical school. Cabinet positions went to people like Charles, or Hank, who had a gift for them.

"I certainly don't expect an answer immediately," Hank was saying, and she forced her attention back to him. "But do say you'll consider it."

"How can I not?" She hated the hint of helplessness edging her tone, but she knew Hank. He'd never make her feel uncomfortable for it, or use it against her, even if he didn't know how to respond to it. Which he clearly didn't, she thought, to judge by his expression. "It's a big step," she added, more to reassure him than anything else. "And just the offer is -- amazing. I don't think it's sunk in yet."

"I know that feeling. I haven't gotten over it yet, myself."

She chuckled, and turned the conversation to other topics, even as one question thrummed in her mind. _What will Scott say about this?_


	10. Chapter 10

Still don't own them, etc.

X X X X X

Scott stood inside the boathouse, staring at the beams overhead. The architect had called to tell him the boathouse was sound enough to support the second story he'd decided was a better idea than trying to lay a water- and critter-proof floor directly over the lake. Besides, adding a second story meant they could still use the boathouse for its intended purpose -- though he'd blast anyone who thought taking a motorboat out of the boathouse after midnight was a good idea.

He paced out room dimensions along the walkway that circled three sides of the boathouse. Master bedroom here, shared bathroom there, and the baby's room would fit in that corner.

Baby's room? He stopped mid-stride. That baby was, presumably, currently growing inside Jean -- but what about their _other_ child? What about sixteen-going-on-seventeen-year-old Rachel? She needed a room, too.

The rational part of his mind argued that she was almost seventeen, and would probably be going off to college soon. And besides, being around kids her own age wasn't a bad idea.

He stopped that thought before it went any further. Whether she went away to college or not, whatever her new life brought her, she needed to know that she had a place with her parents. A home, which he was pretty sure she'd never had before. And he would provide that if he could.

The boathouse that was large enough for two bedrooms and a living space looked cramped when he visualized three bedrooms in it.

"So what'd it do?"

He turned to see Keith leaning in the doorway. The reporter didn't have a notebook and pen out, at least. "What did what do?"

"The boathouse. The way you're scowling at it, it must've done something bad."

"I just realized we need one more room than I'd thought." Scott leaned against one of the mooring pylons. "But that's what the architect is for."

"Isn't it risky, keeping the X-Men at the school?"

"Life is a risk." But that called for more explanation, so he continued, "I'm not being flippant, but every day since their abilities manifest, a mutant is at risk of something_._ Whether that risk is their parents throwing them out of the house, or being lynched by a mob, or ending up in a mental hospital, we live it every day. The school is a refuge for those kids, but in being a refuge, it also becomes a target. The X-Men being here make it a hard target instead of a soft one."

"What happened to 'mutants just want to live normal lives'?"

"We're not the ones lynching non-mutants just because of what they are."

"Magneto?"

"We stopped him." Permanently. Scott wasn't proud that they'd killed a man who had been their teacher, their friend. But it had been necessary. It wasn't a line of questioning he wanted to pursue, so he asked, "Have you figured it out yet?"

The sudden question caught the other man off guard. "What?"

"That Rachel thinks of you as her father."

Keith blinked at him. "I don't even know her."

"She knows you. She said you were an ally, that we could trust you. It's the only reason you were in our briefing."

"Big step from you can trust me to I'm her father."

"I didn't say you are her father. Just that she thinks of you that way, so you had an important role in her life."

"Huh." Keith pursed his lips, apparently deep in thought.

"And she's going to relate to you from that mindset." He stood and crossed to Keith, not quite close enough to intimidate. "She's been through a lot, and she needs things -- people -- that are familiar. Don't hurt her by backing away if she needs you."

"You seem to be taking this remarkably well," Keith said. "It doesn't bother you, how she thinks of me?"

"Why should it? I'm glad Jean found someone, since I wasn't around." He didn't need to emphasize that he was still around, this time.

"I don't even know her," Keith muttered. "And she thinks of me as Dad." Scott raised an inquiring eyebrow, and Keith smiled, a quirk of his lips. "I won't back away. I will probably swallow my foot."

"We all do," Scott said, remembering a few of the times he'd done exactly that. "The trick is not to let your knee follow it."

"I haven't mastered that yet. Any tips?"

"If I figure it out, I'll let you know. Don't hold your breath," he added, amused. Then he frowned. "You didn't come out here to talk about Rachel."

"I wanted to talk to you about writing profiles of the X-Men -- the adult ones," Keith corrected himself. "I couldn't help overhearing the argument Iceman had with his parents. My room's right above where they were."

"I don't have any objections," Scott said. "So long as you respect each one's privacy requests."

Keith looked at him dubiously. "You want to be heroes, but you're concerned about privacy. Contradiction?"

"Maybe." Scott leaned back on one of the pylons. "But while I might be willing to go completely public, Jean might not. We're new to this business."

"Only to the publicity." Both men turned at the sound of Rachel's voice. "The X-Men are good at being heroes."

"Spoken like a true X-Man," Scott smiled at her where she stood in the doorway.

"Am I one?" She looked surprised.

"Why wouldn't you be?" Scott asked, equally surprised.

"Just -- you don't know me." Rachel let hesitation color her tone for just a moment, then continued with more confidence. "Would you let just anyone who showed up on the doorstep be an X-Man?"

"Talk to Logan and Marie." Scott couldn't help the dry tone.

"You mean -- it's not because I'm your daughter?"

Scott gave Keith credit for slipping out the door Rachel had vacated when she came further toward him. Now he crossed over to his daughter and put his hands on her shoulders. "That you're my daughter has nothing to do with it."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing." Scott put conviction in his tone. "You were an X-Man in your time. You handled yourself well in the fight at the studio. You helped Logan keep the others from getting nervous with anticipation. That's more experience than most of us had when we started."

He didn't need to be a telepath to sense the relief that swept through her. The look in her eyes, the easing of tension in muscles, told him everything. Instinctively, he stepped in to take her in his arms and hold her.

"Dumb, huh?" she murmured, her voice muffled and hoarse. "I do the job without flinching, but you say I'm an X-Man and I lose it."

"If you lost it in the fight, you wouldn't be an X-Man." He kept his tone light, and she chuckled a little. Then he turned serious. "I have no idea what you're going through, what it must be like to lose everyone you knew and loved. But I'll do whatever I can to help you, starting with making sure you know you have a place here, with your family."

"You don't even know me."

"You don't know me, either, but that didn't stop you from hugging me the moment we met."

"It meant I'd got here in time, before you died."

Scott smiled, glad she couldn't see it. "I was starting to wonder if you got anything from me besides your eyes."

"Huh?" She looked up at him, puzzled, and frowned when she saw his smile.

"Your mom --" and that sounded good, he realized, and felt better to say -- "likes to tell me I keep how I feel hidden, and I mask it with duty or humor. Like father, like daughter. I don't expect you to stay forever," he added. "Children leave the nest and make their own way in the world. But you have a place, as an X-Man, or as Rachel Summers, with us."

Rachel stepped out of the embrace, and he let her go, respecting the emotional distance she needed. "So what're you doing out here?"

"Planning where partition walls will go. I was doing fine until I got to your room."

"My room?" She shrugged. "Nurseries don't take up much room. A corner for a crib and a changing table."

"That was going right there." He pointed to the far right corner. "Your room. You, Rachel, not the baby Jean's pregnant with right now. I said you have a place with your family, and I meant it." She looked surprised, and then happy, but he wasn't going to press her for words she wasn't used to saying. "When I got to a third bedroom, I realized we need more space. I'm thinking cantilevering."

"Why not build an addition? Not all of it is over water, after all."

"We'll talk to the architect," Scott said. "Between the three of us and her, we should get something workable."

"I suppose so."

He didn't know her very well yet, but her tone reminded him so much of Jean that he had to ask, "Is something wrong?"

She looked up at him, guilt flashing in her eyes for the briefest of moments, and then her expression settled into determination. "If I'm an X-Man, then I should tell you something I did earlier."

He matched her tone and stance, became Cyclops instead of Dad. "Tell me what?"

"When the Drakes were here -- Bobby's parents?" At his nod, she continued, "I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but they weren't exactly quiet. And they were going on about things that didn't matter, and totally ignoring the big issues about mutants, and Bobby, and --"

She paused to take a breath, and Scott just waited. He'd dealt with enough students over the years to sense when they needed encouragement and when they just needed to know he was listening. Now was the latter.

"And, well, they're the kind of people who let my past happen," she said. "I couldn't just let them do it again."

"What did you do?" He kept his tone mild, made sure his shields were in place so he wasn't broadcasting the momentary abject panic that filled him.

"Nothing too bad, honest," she said. "And maybe good. I just showed them the Bobby Drake I knew, the one who saved hundreds of lives before giving his own. And I let them know exactly why he'd had to do it. That's all."

It was a lot less than it could have been, Scott knew, and he relaxed somewhat. "Why did you tell me?"

The question surprised her. "Because it's wrong. Mom taught me from the beginning not to go messing with people's minds unless I had to."

"Is it? I know it's wrong to alter memories, or change an opinion. But if all you did was show them your perception of their son, is it wrong?" He shoved his hands in his trouser pockets and nodded for her to walk with him. "I've always been glad I'm not a telepath. The subtleties of it are not fun."

"Wait -- a man who by all accounts can see every layer of a battle immediately doesn't like subtle?"

"At its heart, no matter how many players there are, a battle is simple. The objective for either side is to win, and it's my job to tell my team how to win. Telepathy is complex -- what's right, what's wrong? When is it right, when is it wrong? I can't answer those questions."

"So no lecture?" Rachel sounded hopeful, and Scott had to laugh.

"Not from me, I'm not qualified to lecture you on it. Your mom, though --"

"Is in DC with Logan."

"They'll be back tonight. So you should talk to her about it -- by tomorrow evening?" His tone made it a question, but they both knew it was an order.

"Tomorrow evening," she agreed.

- X -

It was a relief, Scott thought, to discover there was at least one member of his family he had a good relationship with. He tried not to think too hard about that one member being the daughter he'd had no hand in raising.

He'd spent an hour walking the grounds and talking with Rachel, getting to know her. She'd become a mature young woman, and if she sometimes seemed older than her years, Scott suspected it was because of the world she'd grown up in. But they shared the same sense of humor and the same love of an adrenaline rush, which he confirmed by taking her out for a hundred and fifty mile per hour ride on the Harley. And then he'd confirmed his love of adrenaline by letting her drive home.

They'd barely parked the Harley in its assigned space when Scott's cell phone vibrated at his hip. He grimaced as he reached for it.

"It's okay, Dad -- I'll see you later." And with a wave she disappeared into the mansion proper.

"Summers," he said into the phone.

"There's someone here to see you," Carolyn, the school's receptionist, said. "He says his name is Alex and he has some test results you've been waiting for."

"I'll be right there." His brother had come here? Instinct screamed that Alex had discovered something disastrous about the powers that had shifted after he'd taken the control serum Jean had synthesized, but reason reminded him that he didn't know Alex well at all anymore, and so he should wait until he heard what Alex had to say. Instinct subsided with a muttered promise to beat reason senseless if it turned out there was a problem.

Quickly, he stowed his and Rachel's helmets and went into the mansion proper.

He found Alex studying one of the glass display cases lining the main hallway. "The sculptures on the top shelves of each case were made by a friend," he said.

Alex turned and offered his hand. "They're exquisite, the way they catch the light. They look almost intangible."

"That's because they are." Scott recognized the dubious look Alex gave him as they shook hands, and chuckled. "Seriously. They're made of light. Larry's power is to mold photons into whatever forms or shapes he chooses. But if you touch them, they shatter into stardust."

"Why isn't he showing them at galleries and making a fortune? I'd buy one, if I could afford it."

"Logistical issue, mostly. How do you transport something you can't touch? He formed those inside the cases last time he was here."

"Isn't your girlfriend telekinetic? Can't she move them?"

"Fiancée," Scott corrected. "And we don't know if she can or not. She's never tried."

"Do I get to meet her?"

The question surprised him, but he tried not to let it show. "She won't be back until later this evening, but sure. Meantime, Carolyn said you had some test results?"

Alex made a slight gesture with the briefcase held in his left hand. "You might want privacy for this."

Instinct chortled, _I told you so,_ as Scott led Alex to his office and closed the door behind them. "This is as private as it gets here." Then he had to grin. "Other than my and Jean's bedroom."

"I'll skip that, thanks." He took a seat across the desk from Scott and pulled a half-inch thick stack of paper from his briefcase. It was comb-bound along one side and no text graced its cover.

"Dissertation draft already? Impressive."

"No dissertation," Alex said. "It's too dangerous."

"My power?" Scott asked, momentarily confused.

"In the wrong hands, yes." Alex sat back in his chair, apparently relaxed, but Scott could see the lines of tension around his eyes and mouth. "When you asked me to test your new powers, you told me you were worried that somebody might take control of you again like that colonel had."

"We think all of his serum and notes were buried under Alkali Lake, but we can't be certain. And even if it were, if he figured it out, it's just a matter of time before someone else does."

"I think you should be grateful you didn't have full control then."

Alex's quiet declaration caught Scott's attention. "Why?"

"All the details are in there," Alex nodded at the report on Scott's desk. "But in general terms, you've got most of the life cycle of a star at your command."

"I'm an engineer, not a physicist," Scott said finally. "But -- what kind of star? Some go supernova, and some collapse, right?"

"I'm a geophysicist, not an astrophysicist. But all stars explode and then collapse. Stars like our sun become red giants and then nebulae, and then collapse into white dwarves and, theoretically, black dwarves. Larger stars become red super-giants then supernovae, and then collapse into either neutron stars or black holes."

"And my power resembles which of those?"

"Either. Both."

"You're saying I can -- what are you saying?"

"I'm saying that, theoretically, you could cause a star quake like neutron stars have, or you could create an event horizon like a black hole. Not sure I'd try that, if I were you. You might take half the planet with you."

Memory came back to Scott. _"What else can we do against mutants that powerful?" _ The president had said not long before Alcatraz_. "We're only human, after all."_

The president had said that about Magneto. Scott couldn't help wondering what the president would say about his new powers. And then he felt a dread certainty that someone would convince the president, and the public, that some mutants were too powerful to live.

Alex looked as serious as he felt. "That's the only copy. I deleted everything from the hard drive and then destroyed it."

Scott blinked. "Why?"

"Enlightened self-interest."

Scott raised an eyebrow in silent inquiry.

"Are you really attached to that stapler?"

"I'm not that kinky."

"That was an over-share." Alex tossed the stapler into the air. Scott winced at the thought of the gouge it would make in the hardwood floor when it landed, but at the top of its parabolic arc, the stapler disintegrated.

Scott stared at Alex, who still sat calmly, one hand outstretched. Scott could see the air rippling around his brother's hand for a moment, then it stilled.

"If they decide you're too dangerous to live," Alex said quietly, "it's inevitable that they'll look at the rest of your family, too."


	11. Chapter 11

Still don't own them, just borrowing them for a little fun and games, X-Men style…

X X X X X

"You're quiet."

Jean looked over to where Logan sat in the driver's seat. They'd turned onto the New Jersey Turnpike almost an hour before. "So are you."

He glanced at her with a grin. "I have an excuse. Anti-social."

Jean chuckled softly. "Hank just gave me a lot to think about, that's all."

"Anything wrong?"

"I don't think so." She'd been turning Hank's suggestion over in her mind since they'd left Washington, privately so that Scott wouldn't feel it through their link. "Just -- a lot to think about," she repeated. Then, to distract him, "What about you? Did you get your business taken care of?"

"Yeah. As much as they'd let me, anyway."

"Who'd let you?"

"The government." His tone made it a curse. "I asked if I could get into Stryker's office, see if he had any files that might tell me more about my past. They said no. Security risk."

"I'm sorry you wasted a trip, then."

"Not a waste. I got into his assistant's apartment."

His tone suggested there was more, but getting the Wolverine to share personal feelings was even more difficult than getting Scott to, and she didn't have a mindlink with Logan the way she did with Scott. "And?"

"I think I was married to her, once. A long time ago." He turned his attention to meet her surprised expression for just a heartbeat, then looked back to the freeway. "You did say there's no way to tell how old I am."

"How old do you think you might be? Or maybe, how long ago do you think you were married to her?"

"You didn't look in the trunk, did you?"

"No. Why should I?" And where did that question come from?

"No reason. It's not like we have suitcases for a day trip." He paused, and Jean opened her psychic sense to receive whatever he broadcast. Which usually wasn't much. "If you had, you'd see I'm bringing a few things back."

"What did you find?"

"What, not gonna lecture me about stealing?"

"You're an adult. You can make your own decisions." She wasn't going to remind him that Yuriko, Stryker's assistant, lay at the bottom of San Francisco Bay, so the chance of charges being brought was slim.

Logan nodded acknowledgement of her comment, but drove in silence for a moment before he said, "I found Japanese swords that had been made for me."

"How do you know they were made for you? Did you recognize them?"

"The katana was longer than usual. They called it an odachi, a long sword. The only reason to make one that long was for someone very tall. Which I am, especially by Japanese standards. It felt right in my hand, Jeannie. I drew it, and I knew I'd held it before. My hand knew it. And the design on the case matched the design on an obi I found, too."

"Obi? That's a kind of belt, right?"

"Right. Worn with a kimono."

"So you spent some time in Japan, then," Jean said. "But when?"

"I don't know." A hint of frustration colored his voice. "But the school has a library, right? I'm going to look through whatever books we have about Japan and see if anything registers."

"I might be able to help." If she'd thought before she spoke, she'd never have made the offer.

"How? No offense, Jeannie, but you and the professor both tried to read my mind before and came up empty."

It would be easy to take the out he unwittingly offered, she thought. But she'd stayed silent once before. She wouldn't again.

"Not entirely empty," she said quietly, knowing he would hear if she whispered. She felt his glance at her, as sharp as the claws housed in his forearms, and couldn't look at him as she continued, "Just nothing that made sense."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Logan's voice was tight with anger and disappointment.

"It didn't make sense," she repeated. "I got images of what must've been the surgery where they grafted the adamantium to your skeleton, and other images around it that didn't seem to be related. I didn't know what to think, whether I'd found fantasies or somehow added my own thoughts to it, or what. And then when the professor found whatever it was that sent you to Alkali Lake, I --" she looked down at her lap -- "I forgot about it. I thought surely he'd seen everything I had, maybe more, and told you. His telepathy is so much stronger than mine."

Logan didn't speak for several miles. Finally, he said, "You should've told me."

"You're right. I'm sorry."

"Sorry doesn't make everything all better."

"I know. But it's all I can do, apologize, and offer to show you what I found before. If you want."

More miles rolled by.

"I'll get back to you."

- X -

"I understand, now, what you went through. A little."

Scott nodded to Alex's comment. At his suggestion, they'd driven into Salem Center for dinner and very private conversation. He'd chosen a family-owned restaurant where he and Jean were regulars and the staff knew not to be too attentive once they'd taken orders and served the meals.

"What happened?" he asked.

"Do you remember Todd Haley? Friend of mine from school?"

Scott couldn't tell Alex that he'd made an effort to remember every detail, because he'd thought memories were all he'd ever have. So he just nodded.

"His family got money, a couple of years after you -- left. His dad sold a patent, I think, but it didn't matter to a couple of teenage kids." Alex took a breath, let it out, and Scott had the sense that his brother had never told this to anyone else. "We were out one day, I don't even remember what we were doing, but we had our bikes and it was summer vacation and we had the world ahead of us. Until the car cut us off. It clipped my bike, and knocked me into Todd. Two guys got out of the car and came for Todd. We were scared and hurt and -- I destroyed the car, just like I did the stapler."

Scott forced his jaw to relax. No sense getting angry so many years after the events. "Lots of powers manifest in traumatic situations," he said.

"Yeah, well, that was pretty traumatic." Alex gave a wry grimace. "But the kidnappers ran off, and Todd and I just said some car had hit us and kept going."

"I can see how you wouldn't want to try to explain what happened."

Alex shook his head. "It wasn't that. I could explain it, mostly."

"Then what --?"

Even after so many years, Scott could read signs of unease in his younger brother. "I was scared. Scared that Mom and Dad would send me away like they did you. And it wasn't my fault, you know? I didn't choose to be a mutant, so why should I take the punishment for it?"

"Alex --"

Alex shook his head. "It was dumb, yeah, but I was fifteen and pretty damn dumb myself."

"All these years -- I thought you hated me for what happened."

"I hated you until it happened to me."

Scott grabbed a piece of bread from the basket that had appeared while Alex spoke, slathered butter on it. Processing what Alex had said took precedence over healthy eating. And chewing gave him a few moments to collect his thoughts and control his emotions. Finally, he swallowed and said, "Where do we go from here?"

"I don't know. I mean, I don't hate you anymore. But you did almost kill me at the dance."

"I know." Scott felt his throat tighten, swallowed past it. "We're both very lucky I didn't."

It had taken several intense psychic therapy sessions with Charles before Scott realized exactly what had happened that day. He'd made his peace with it, finally, but he'd never known what Alex thought about those events.

"Both?" Alex couldn't keep the surprise from his expression.

"Both. Unless you think I'd enjoy living with the fact that I'd killed you." Scott tried to keep his tone normal, wasn't sure he managed it. "It hurt enough knowing that I almost killed you."

"I never thought about how you might have felt." Alex looked up to meet his eyes. "Fifteen years old and completely self-absorbed. And then it was a habit, I guess."

"A bad habit." Scott couldn't help the snap in his tone, but winced inwardly when he heard it.

"And one I'll break," Alex said evenly.

Scott let out a breath. "Sorry. I thought I'd worked through being angry at you."

"It was probably easier not to be angry when I was in Arizona."

Alex's wry observation made Scott laugh, and some of the tension eased from his shoulders. "Probably. But you're my brother, and I'd rather we not hate each other."

"Brother or no, we'll still get angry at each other sometimes. Comes with the territory."

"I suppose it does." Scott paused while their meals were brought. Then he said, "So you don't advertise what you can do?"

"You probably think I'm a coward for that."

An automatic "No" wouldn't serve him here, Scott knew that, so he chewed a bite of his steak while he considered the question more deeply. He swallowed and said, "I don't know. I won't deny that I'd like to have you on my team, and I can't help but think that you're in for a very rude awakening if things go to hell, which they still might, and you're discovered to be hiding or passing as normal."

"I don't want to be an X-Man." Alex regarded him seriously. "I respect what you're doing, but it's not for me."

"Fair enough," Scott said. "It's your life, and your choice to make. We don't have to agree on it."

"You were always the hero," Alex said. "The adventurous one. I'm happy doing geosciences and sharing that with the woman I love."

"Like I share the X-Men with Jean," Scott agreed. Then, "How is she? Lorna?"

"As well as can be expected. She just got back from her grandfather's funeral."

"Sorry to hear that." Then he blinked. "You didn't go with her?"

"She didn't want me to. The family hasn't been close, I gather, and she didn't want to add to any tensions."

Scott nodded. He and Alex both understood that reaction. "When things settle down, maybe we can get together, the four of us? Before the Fourth."

And maybe, he added silently, the five of us. Alex needed to know he had a niece, after all, and he and Lorna had been together for several years, according to the occasional notes he'd get from his mother.

"Sure," Alex said. "I'll talk to Lorna and be in touch."

"Sounds good." Scott glanced at his watch. "Jean should be back any time."

"So what's the best way to get on my future sister-in-law's good side?"

"Butter pecan ice cream."

"Woman after my own heart." Alex grinned at him. "Where can we stop and get a gallon?"


	12. Chapter 12

Logan stood beside Jean's Toyota and stretched. He'd pulled the car into its space in the garage a few minutes before, and Jean had climbed out and gone into the mansion without a word. Just as well she had, he thought, as he still wasn't certain what to make of her confession that she'd gotten images of his past but not shared them with him.

Of course, they'd had a long day of driving -- four and a half hours each way to D.C. and back, plus a couple of hours there. The endless blacktop and stop-and-go traffic much of the way had numbed his senses. And Jean's moodiness on the trip back told him that something was going on, even though she didn't want to go into details.

He still had her keys, he realized. He'd shoved them in his pocket from habit when he got out of the car. For a moment, he debated taking them to her immediately, but then decided he'd need them until he'd moved Yuriko's things out of the trunk.

That could wait until after he ate, though. He followed Jean's scent into the mansion as far as the stairs to the second floor. Where she'd gone up, presumably to her and Scott's room, he continued down the hall to the kitchen. This time of night, it should be deserted, so he could eat and think in peace.

Should be, Logan thought, but wasn't. Keith Stephens sat at the island, a laptop computer open at his right hand and a thick sandwich resting on a plate at his left hand. He looked up as Logan stepped inside and nodded a greeting.

So far, so good, Logan thought. He wouldn't be alone, but maybe he'd have quiet, other than the tapping of fingers on keyboard. The staccato beat of the keyboard accompanied him as he made a sandwich of his own from last night's meat loaf and a thick slab of cheese and grabbed a soda from the fridge. The fridge, not the cabinet. Why anyone would store soda in a cabinet even when they had a resident Iceman was beyond him.

The keyboard fell silent, and Logan hoped he'd be able to get out of the room before the reporter said anything. No such luck.

"I wondered if I could ask you a few questions," Keith said.

"Only if you want the answers."

Keith frowned at him, puzzled, but said, "What brought you to the X-Men?"

"Cyke and Storm. In the Blackbird."

Keith's frown changed to a grimace. "I meant, what made you want to join? How'd you find them?"

"They found me."

"Were they recruiting?"

"Have to ask them. They pulled me and Rogue --" he'd almost said Marie, but what were code names for, if not discussions with the media? -- "out of a fight with one of Magneto's cronies. I never asked why they were there in the first place."

"Don't look a gift horse in the mouth?"

"Something like that." He took a big bite of the sandwich.

"Why'd you stay?"

"Seemed like the thing to do at the time," he said around a mouthful of meat loaf and cheese. "But you can make that pretty if you want, say something about noble causes and all that."

"What were you before you became an X-Man?"

"An experiment."

Keith stared at him. "An experiment?"

"Yeah. I was born able to heal. I wasn't born with these." He popped a claw on the hand that held the sandwich, retracted it almost immediately. "Somebody decided to improve on nature."

"You volunteered for that?"

"Who in the flamin' hell would volunteer for this?"

Keith blinked at his vehemence, but didn't flinch. "I'm a reporter. My job is to ask questions."

"Nothing says I gotta answer 'em." Logan grabbed his soda and stalked out of the kitchen. So much for peace and quiet.

- X -

Scott wasn't in the mansion. Jean knew that even before Logan had shut off the engine of her car, but she figured their room was the one place Logan wouldn't follow her if he decided he wanted to know what she'd seen in his mind that first night. She wasn't sure she was ready to have that conversation, not while Hank's offer loomed at the forefront of her mind.

Thankfully, Scott had been occupied most of the day, and hadn't pressed into her awareness. Which meant that he didn't know about Hank's offer yet, and she got to choose the time to tell him. And knowing Scott, sooner was better than later.

As she slipped off the heels she'd worn and reached to unzip her skirt, she focused on that part of Scott that was always with her now. _Will you be home soon?_

_Sooner than you think, especially if you keep undressing._

She slipped the skirt down her legs, allowing him to feel the slide of silky fabric against her skin.

_Evil. You're evil,_ he told her.

_You love it. Are you on the way?_

_Stopped at the grocery store. Fifteen minutes, twenty tops, depending on traffic._

_The grocery store?_ Stocking the kitchen wasn't one of Scott's duties, never had been.

_Yep._ And that meant he wasn't going to tell her until he got home himself. _Take a shower or whatever, but meet me in the conservatory._

His presence in her mind receded, and she pulled her blouse over her head. A shower sounded good. Sharing it with Scott, telepathically or otherwise, sounded better, but she sensed now wasn't the time. Something bothered him, even more than Hank's offer bothered her, and games had to wait until she'd asked him about it and helped him resolve it, if only temporarily.

So she kept her shower private, barely felt Scott's arrival as she dried off, and then pulled on one of Scott's T-shirts over a pair of pajama pants. Covered enough that she wouldn't traumatize any students who might see her, but comfortable, Jean padded barefoot to the conservatory.

Scott wasn't in the conservatory when she stepped inside. She sent a question to him, but before it was fully formed, she heard footsteps approaching. She listened. Were there two sets?

She turned to face the door and smiled when she saw Scott coming toward her, a bowl held in one hand. Three steps had her close enough to him to give him a light kiss. "What's that?"

"Butter pecan ice cream." The voice wasn't Scott's, though it was similar. She flicked a glance behind Scott and met a pair of eyes as brilliant and blue as Scott's own. And his father's. "Scott said it's your favorite."

"Jean, my brother, Alex. Alex, my fiancée, Jean Grey."

Alex held out a bowl to her. "Pleased to meet you."

"Thanks." She took the bowl. "I hope you'll understand if I'm surprised to meet you."

"Not as surprised as I am to introduce you," Scott said. "Good surprise, though."

"I'm guessing you came because of something you found when you looked at Scott's powers," Jean said. "Anything to be concerned about?"

Alex shrugged and took a bite of his ice cream. "He can tell you about it."

"Or you can just explain it as though I'm not in the room. Either way works for me." Scott pulled the teacher's chair from behind the desk and rolled it over to the window. "View's best here."

"View?" Alex asked.

"Sunset over the lake," Scott replied as he sat down, leaned back, and propped his feet on the windowsill. "Jean?"

She nodded, and telekinetically moved two student chairs next to his. Alex blinked, but otherwise took the casual use of her powers in stride. With exaggerated courtesy, he held her chair as she took her place next to Scott, then sat down himself.

"Since you said I could," Alex grinned at his brother, then looked at Jean more seriously. "His power is almost off the charts. What I didn't tell you before," he added with his attention back on Scott, "is that you were right to be concerned about other energies affecting your power. I don't know how you focused in on electro-magnetism, but that one has some serious potential for problems."

Scott's expression was as cold as his ice cream. "We learned that the hard way."

Alex didn't take that as a rebuke, which surprised Jean. "What happened?"

Jean didn't need the link to know that Scott didn't want to talk about it himself. She also knew he wouldn't appreciate her dancing around it. So she said, "We lost half of California."

"What?" Alex stared first over Scott at her, then at Scott. "California -- that was you? Why?"

"His power," Jean agreed, "but not his choice." Quickly and efficiently, she explained how Magneto had twisted Scott's power and used it to tear apart the San Andreas Fault.

Alex's expression went from horrified to professional interest -- Jean knew that expression well, since she wore it often. "It makes sense, now," he said when Jean had finished.

"What does?" Jean recognized the challenge in Scott's tone. He was waiting for Alex to chew him out for what had happened. Instinctively, she reached through their link to offer him silent support.

"All of it." Seeing that that wasn't enough explanation, Alex continued, 'The news reports blamed it all on Magneto, but that's not possible. Not at that scale, anyway, because -- never mind why. The point is, something besides magnetism had to be at work there."

"Scale?" Scott sat up straight, his feet landing on the floor with a thump. "What do you mean?"

"Magnetism will affect the Earth, sure, but to affect the entire San Andreas that way --" Alex rose and put his empty bowl on the seat he'd just vacated. "Classroom, right, where's the chalk?"

Jean levitated a piece of chalk into his hand.

"Thanks." He sounded distracted, she thought, and he drew a rough outline of the western coast of North America on the blackboard. "This is North America, before. Baja California, California coast, Alaska." He pointed at each location as he named it. "Where were you when it happened, Scotty?"

Scott started at the use of what had to be a childhood nickname, but said only, "Where Baja splits off, that juncture."

Alex drew a circle to indicate it. "Okay. You and Magneto were here, churning out God only knows what kind of power levels, right?"

"Right."

"Given that the fault line runs here," Alex drew a dashed line, "what you did was enough to -- well, crack the fault. Like a prybar, your powers combined to pull it apart right here."

Jean frowned at the drawing on the chalkboard. "I'm no physicist, but that seems like a lot of leverage from one prybar."

Alex regarded her gravely. "Scott's capable of doing it, power-wise."

"Without ripping the planet apart?" Scott asked, and Jean stared at him when she realized he was serious.

Alex frowned. In the gathering dusk, the white lines of his drawing stood out against the gray chalkboard. "I don't know."

They sat in silence for a moment, the only sound the clink of Jean's spoon against her bowl as she scraped up the last of the melted ice cream.

"He had help," Scott said finally.

"Besides you?" Alex asked.

"Besides me." Scott rose and crossed to the blackboard. "Archimedes said he could move the world with a sufficiently long lever. That's exactly what Magneto did, only he didn't have a long enough lever to start. So, he had help." His mind went quiet except for lightning fast calculations Jean couldn't follow, and then he took the chalk from Alex and marked an X on the fault line somewhere south of San Francisco. "There. Or somewhere south. Further north, and he'd need another me as well as another him."

"Are there any lights in this room?" Alex asked, and Jean focused her concentration to turn them on with her telekinesis. Alex grinned his thanks, then studied the map again. "I'd think it would be near Parkfield. Where the fault shifts from locked to creeping."

If Scott's voice had caught the way Alex's did on "Parkfield," Jean thought, she would be asking questions. But with Alex, she had no right, and Scott didn't seem to have picked up the catch in his brother's voice, because he only said, "I had to estimate, because you didn't draw that map to any scale I recognize."

"No gridlines on the chalkboard," Alex countered. He'd focused past whatever bothered him about Parkfield, and Jean let her concern go. "But the shift in the fault makes it a good place for a secondary lever."

"Which would probably be about as powerful as Magneto himself," Scott continued his thought almost as though Alex's correction hadn't occurred. "And sympathetic to him, as well." His mouth set in a grim line. "We may have an enemy we don't know about."

- X -

Logan snarled against the sudden light from the conservatory. _Who turned on the lights?_

But the answer was evident -- Scott and Jean sat in chairs at the window, watching another man who stared at a drawing on a chalkboard. There had to be more entertaining ways to spend an evening, but if that's what floated their boat, Logan could only shrug. If anything they talked about was important, no doubt he'd hear about it in the morning.

He hefted the futon more securely onto his back and double-checked that the daisho were still securely wrapped inside the bedding, then continued to the caretaker's cottage. He'd waited until well after dinner before bringing the futon and the swords to the cottage, knowing he couldn't explain why he was doing so and reluctant simply to snarl at anyone who might ask. They were his teammates, his chosen family, and they deserved better than a snarl. Even Scott would agree avoidance was the better strategy in this case.

Inside the cottage was darker, thanks to poorly-placed windows that didn't catch the moonlight well. He paused inside the door, allowed his vision to adjust, and then crossed to the fireplace.

Moments later, the daisho rested on the mantle in their stand. That task done, he unrolled the futon and placed it on the floor across the room from the fireplace. With care, he spread the bedding over the futon, then stepped away to regard his work.

An interior designer would consider it too Spartan, too minimal, and on another night, he might agree. For now it suited his purpose, and though it was still early, he undressed.

The distance from the house was another benefit of the cottage, he thought as he folded his clothes and set them by the edge of the futon. He didn't have to stay dressed in case some kid came wandering into his room either by mistake or in search of a Wolverine to scare away the scary creatures under the bed. Any kid who would brave the forest in the dark of night could certainly face anything under the bed.

He sat on the bedding, facing the daisho, inhaled deeply. Yuriko's scent still clung to the sheets, and he savored the tangy jasmine of it, exhaling slowly. Breathing in and out to a count of eight, he sought to relax his mind as Xavier had taught him before their first telepathic session to try to find his missing memories.

Telepathy hadn't worked. Perhaps immersion in Yuriko's scent and meditation on things that had belonged to him would.

- X -

Scott let out a breath when the bedroom door closed behind him and Jean. They'd seen Alex out, and he'd been surprised when his younger brother had pulled him into a brief hug before climbing into his rental car.

"I got a hotel in the city," he'd said when Scott offered him a room at the school for the night. "I like my mornings simple when I travel, and getting up, getting breakfast with a lot of kids, and then driving to the airport isn't simple."

Scott had to agree, and only Jean knew how relieved he was that Alex wasn't staying the night. They'd had too many years of distance to be close immediately, although this meeting had gone a long way toward starting them on that path. He needed time to adjust to the new aspects of that closeness.

So he pulled on pajama trousers, settled into bed, and opened his arms for Jean. She cuddled against him, and he felt the link they shared deepen -- a mental cuddle to echo the physical one.

"I have to test it," he said. "I have to know what I can do. The team needs to know, too."

"Someplace remote," Jean told him. "You said something about ripping the planet apart, so you'll want to be away from people."

"I'm thinking I might go out to Arizona with Alex. Lots of remote places, and he has access to equipment we might need." He let out a breath and deliberately lightened his tone. "So -- that was my day. How was yours?"

Her mind stilled, and Scott felt his body tensing in response. Why would a simple question upset her?

"Well, driving to and from DC in one day isn't my idea of fun," she said. "But it was good to see Hank again. He got some good news -- the president's planning to appoint him as ambassador to the United Nations."

"That's great," Scott said. But her thoughts were still quiet. There was more to come, there had to be. "Have they thought about his replacement yet?"

And that was the issue. Scott didn't need unusual sensitivity to feel her sudden tension, mental and physical. All he could do was hold her, let her feel that he was ready for whatever she said next.

"Actually," she tried to keep her voice light, "Hank asked me to consider taking the job."

Okay, maybe he wasn't ready.

"It's scary," Jean continued. "And I can't help but wonder why they thought of me."

That was something he could talk about while he recovered from the initial shock. "You've been working for mutant rights for years. You're known in the mutant community, and you've already testified before the Senate."

"Disastrously," she said, and he felt the lingering shame and embarrassment at how Senator Kelly had twisted her words during that testimony. "I wonder if that has something to do with it, that they want me because they think I'll be ineffective. Not Hank," she added quickly. "But the president, others."

"Are you considering taking the job? Assuming you're confirmed?"

"I thought it's a decision we'd make together, whether or not I should try for it. Because it would affect you, too."

"And the baby."

He felt her shock rippling through the link, and he understood. She might know intellectually that she was probably pregnant, but she hadn't felt it yet.

"And the baby," she repeated. "And the X-Men, and -- I just don't know, Scott."

Scott held her tighter, kissed her temple. "First things first. Do you, Jean Grey, want the job? Ignoring all other factors, do you want to be Secretary of Mutant Affairs?"

"No." The answer came more quickly than he'd expected. "Too much publicity. I've never wanted that." Then she sighed. "But I look at all the advantages it would bring if I do take it, and how can I not at least try?"

"I'm the last person to ask that question because, God knows, I have an over-developed sense of responsibility." His intentionally wry tone made her laugh, as he'd hoped it would. "It's easy for me, because I only have two responsibilities -- the team and you. Not necessarily in that order. But you have the team, me, the school, your research, and your activism. Not necessarily in that order."

"And the baby. For both of us."

"And the baby." He couldn't help resting his hand on her stomach. There were no signs of her pregnancy, not yet, but just knowing that a new life that they'd created together grew inside her filled him with wonder and protectiveness.

"I'd have to give up the team." Her voice was so low that he heard her words more through their link than through his ears. "And the school."

"Probably." He was careful to keep his voice and his thoughts neutral. "And I suspect hands-on research would have to take a back seat to reviewing and coordinating research that others do."

"All that ... it's a large hole to fill."

"Do you want to know what I think?" Scott asked quietly.

"Yes, please."

"I think that your not jumping for the chance at the job means you'd be good at it. That's not saying I think you should take it," he added, and she nodded her understanding. "It's going to be a big change in our lives if you do, but we've gone through other big changes before and survived them. We'll survive this one, too, if you take the job. I think you should let it go for now, and consider it in a few days, when you've had time to get used to the idea, and then decide."

She nodded against his chest. "You're right, I need to think about it. But it's just so overwhelming --"

He cut off her words with a kiss, and kept kissing her until she was breathless beside him. "Stubborn," he murmured against her mouth. "I said, let it go for now. If you won't do it willingly, I'll have to make you."

"Is that a threat?"

"It's a promise." His mouth descended on hers again, and he proceeded to take her mind off of secretaries and ambassadors.

- X -

Logan was dreaming. If you could call being caught up in nightmare images "dreaming."

Rachel lay in her bed, awakened and transfixed by the terrifying images in Logan's dreams. In the bed across the room, Kitty's soft, even breathing made an odd counterpoint to the violence of the images assaulting her psychic sense.

Scalpels alternated with swords, military BDUs with patterned silk, all in a jumble of pain both physical and emotional, and weaving through it all, a man's voice. _"I thought you were one of a kind."_

It was the voice that creeped Rachel out the most, whatever Logan might be feeling. Possessive and arrogant and condescending, all rolled into one. It was to stop that voice that Rachel rolled out of bed and shoved her feet into a pair of Kitty's slippers. Her parents had said they'd take her shopping for clothes over the weekend, but for now, she was stuck with borrowed clothes, including the slippers and the T-shirt and shorts she wore to sleep in.

Summer meant those few clothes were enough for the trek through the woods to the cottage, although she had to rely on her telepathic sense for direction once she got into the woods, out of direct moonlight. Logan had barred the door, and it was a moment's thought to slip the bolt quietly aside and push the door open.

She'd heard that some people tossed and turned in their sleep when they had nightmares. Not Logan. He lay still, though she could sense the tension in his body without actually seeing it, and quiet moans, almost cries, escaped his lips.

Rachel left the slippers at the door, padded silently the few feet to Logan's side. He slept on a thin mattress on the floor, tangled in sheets that would provide no cover if he chose to unsheathe his claws. Her telekinesis would, though, and she used it to press his hands down where they rested on the mattress while she knelt beside him.

"Logan." Just his name, and a brush of her hand across his forehead, but it was enough. His eyes slammed open and his upper body convulsed as though he'd started to strike at her with the claws that had snapped out of their housings when he woke.

"What the --" He tried to move his arms again, then focused on her. "Rachel? What're you doing here?"

"Your dreams woke me up." She released her telekinetic hold on his hands and sat back on her heels.

"Sorry." He rubbed his eyes, then sat up and rested his forearms on his knees. In a dim shaft of indirect moonlight, she could see that he was shirtless, and she knew he had to hear the sudden jump in her pulse when she realized it. "You think I woke up Jeannie or the professor, too?"

"I don't know. I know my telepathy's different than Mom's, more image and sensory-based than hers, so I don't think you'd have woken her." She paused, unwilling to simply abandon him now that the nightmares had stopped. "Do you want to talk about it? I mean, I don't want to pry, but some of the things I saw were... pretty bad."

"Talking about 'em won't make 'em any better." The words should have been a rebuke, but instead they were just an observation.

"Maybe not," Rachel conceded. "But maybe talking will help you sort out what you saw. What you remember."

"Do you know?"

"I know what you dreamed. I saw it."

"In the future, did you -- did I -- know my past?"

It must have been the intimacy of the cottage, the raw emotion stirred up by the nightmares, that made him ask the question. Rachel hated the answer she had to give.

"I don't know. I don't think there was time for you to explore it, in my past."

"My future. Your past. We need new words."

Rachel chuckled as he'd intended, but the serious mood didn't pass. "I always thought I could help you."

She felt his gaze on her. "Because your telepathy's different?"

"Mostly that." She couldn't tell him the full reasons, not yet. So she added, "I mean, memories and dreams aren't logical, they aren't coherent. Mom's logical, so she doesn't have the instincts to follow images like that."

"You do?"

"I think I do." She forced a too-casual shrug. "And if I try and fail, you're no worse off than you were."

- X -

It was a tempting offer. Logan regarded Rachel in the darkness of the cottage, noting the way the shadows played over the planes and hollows of her face. Normal human eyes wouldn't pick up the subtleties of shadow the way his did, nor would they pick up the steady thumping of her heart, nor the subtle hint of arousal that wafted off her body -- which hint made him wonder exactly what she was offering.

Which wondering made him give himself a solid mental kick. Just what kind of a pervert was he -- not only was she still a teenager, she was Jean's daughter.

He forced his mind back to the nightmare, to what her offer really meant, his own overactive libido notwithstanding. That brought up his conversation with Jean on the drive back from DC, and whatever she hadn't told him.

"Think you should give your mom some credit. She saw something, when she read my mind."

"Seeing isn't the same as following or associating or interpreting."

"You know it ain't pretty inside my head."

"You know I'm not used to pretty."

"Yeah." She'd been very quiet about the details of her life in the future, but they all knew it wasn't pretty. "Wouldn't mind knowing," he said finally. "But do you really want to start in the middle of the night? Might give you worse nightmares."

"I'd risk it. For you."

Her simple declaration warmed him. Thankfully, the sheets covered it. "Yeah, well, I don't want to give you nightmares. Tomorrow."

"Better to work when the images are fresh. Easier to associate and follow."

Logan let out a silent breath, the options flashing through his mind. The nightmares had been less frequent lately -- this was the first one since Alkali Lake, he realized -- and who knew when he might have another one. More disturbing, who knew how much time they had left? Just because they'd defeated Magneto and now some funky robot didn't mean they weren't going to be under more and more threats.

"Go ahead," he said.

Her fingertips brushed his temple, and he felt her presence in his mind. Unlike Xavier's clinical presence, or Jean's professionally friendly presence, Rachel's was friendly and open, much like her normal personality.

_Start with something you know,_ she told him. _An image, a sound, anything._

He thought of the articles Kitty had found, the pictures she'd brought him. Somehow, they were uppermost in his mind, even though he'd deliberately surrounded himself with Yuriko tonight.

Those led to General Heath, and then he knew what Heath had looked like, sounded like, when they served together in Vietnam. Heath might've respected him, but Logan knew the feeling wasn't mutual.

That was his last conscious thought before memory overtook him, as though it were a wall of water rushing down a narrow canyon, and he a lonely kayaker expecting a gentle ride but suddenly caught in rapids worse than class six.

_Sorry, sorry._ Rachel's voice was sincere, but steady. _I wasn't expecting so much so soon. Let me flag those for you._

_Flag?_

_So you can look at them and sort them later._ She sounded distracted now, and Logan cursed himself for asking questions that could wait.

The jungles of Vietnam gave way to rolling hills, and new images of people and places he didn't know, clothing that Rachel told him looked nineteenth century, but she was no expert, and that would mean he was more than a hundred years old, maybe two hundred, and he didn't want to face the implications of that just now.

Finally, the flood of images came to an end. He could sense Rachel still working, presumably flagging those memories, too, but no new images replaced those she sorted.

"Where is she?" he asked aloud. He heard the frustration in his voice, didn't care.

_Who?_

_Yuriko._ He gave Rachel the clearest memory of Yuriko that he had, when they'd stood in the corridor at Alcatraz before he'd killed her. No, that wasn't right. She'd killed herself, committed seppuku, honorable suicide, and he'd acted as her second, ensured her suffering was brief.

_I'm not finding anything,_ Rachel said. _Try again, everything you think about when you think of her._

He started with the fight in Stryker's base of operations, the fight when he'd killed her the first time. Then the memory of assisting Jean when she pulled the liquid adamantium out of Yuriko's body. Their talk in the woods near Alkali Lake, and the oddest sense of loss when she walked away from him.

Those memories gave way to the ones at Alcatraz, and he felt new grief. This time, Rachel shared it -- no protestations that he'd get over her, no stories of her own though he knew she'd had her share, just simple companionship in mourning.

He gave her a wordless thanks, and moved on to more recent memories, though these were of her apartment, not Yuriko herself.

_I'm sorry,_ Rachel said, and he knew she meant it. _But there's nothing. No threads, no webs, nothing for me to follow._

"Why the hell not?" His snarl filled the cottage.

"I don't know." She'd let the link drop, and he was surprised to find he missed it. He hadn't missed Jean's link, let alone the professor's. He missed Rachel's. "I'm a telepath, not a psychologist or neurologist. If I had to guess, though --?"

He nodded. At this point, he'd take any thoughts, any ideas, no matter how odd.

"If I had to guess, I'd say your subconscious is giving you time to process what you just found. That was a lot, after all."

"Was it? It didn't feel like much. Powerful, but not a large amount."

She chuckled quietly in the dark. "Look again."

He frowned, but thought about General Heath and Vietnam, and there were a lot of memories, bits and pieces, entire events, all types. And when he thought about nineteenth century clothes, there were almost as many relating to that.

"That's what I meant by flagged," Rachel told him. "You can access them better, and more completely, than if I'd just let you feel them and then moved on."

"Will they always be like that?"

"No, they'll fade to normal memories in a year or so. You'll have plenty of time to look at them."

"Thanks for your help." The moment seemed to demand it, so Logan reached out to pull her into a hug. He would've hugged Jean for the same thing, after all.

So why was he suddenly, almost painfully, aware that he held not Jean, but her not-even-legal daughter? And why was that awareness filling his senses?

He started to pull back from the hug, but Rachel tightened her arms around him and pressed closer. He took a breath to tell her that wasn't the brightest idea, and then realized that taking the breath wasn't the brightest idea.

Her arousal filled his nostrils, his lungs, and his body responded to that intimate awareness of her.

"You should go," he managed.

"I don't want to."

"Yes, you do." If she stayed, he didn't know if he could keep from touching her.

"No, I don't." She sounded firm, convinced, and before he could protest again, much less push her away from him -- though his arms seemed to have lost their strength -- she kissed him.

It wasn't a beginner's kiss, nor was it practiced or calculated. It was simply honest in its desire. She tasted of spice and mint, the latter most likely a remnant of toothpaste or mouthwash, and he found the combination a contradiction much like she was, innocent but experienced.

He tore his mouth away from hers while his higher brain functions still worked. "Rachel --"

"Logan." Just his name, but it held an ocean of promise.

"Dammit, girl, I could be your grandfather, three or four times over."

"You're not."

"You don't know what you're asking for."

"I'm no virgin. I know the pleasure of bodies joining. And I've wanted you for a very long time."

He hadn't let her go, hadn't pushed her away. There was no doubt he wanted her, not with that tightness in his groin, the throbbing that kept time with his heartbeat.

"You want me, too," Rachel said, her voice soft. "It's louder even than your dreams."

"I do." No sense denying it, not when she was a telepath and the evidence of it was hard between his legs.

She sighed. "But."

"But."

She let her arms fall from around his neck, sat back on her heels, then stood. "Someday, you'll run out of buts."

She slipped her feet into the slippers she'd worn, then left the cottage.

"That's what I'm afraid of," he whispered to the darkness.


	13. Chapter 13

Still don't own them, and clearly so, because if I did, the "Wolverine" movie would've fit my origin, not theirs. GRIN

X X X X X

Rachel gave thanks for finals week -- though she wasn't a student, she was helping her dad and Ororo with their exams, grading multiple choice and short answer questions so they had more time for the essay questions. The work kept her busy enough that she didn't have time to dwell on what had happened between her and Logan at the cottage.

She was glad to have the distraction, but when finals week ended, she had to find some other distraction. She'd finally cast her thoughts across the school, looking for some task, any task, she could help with, and found her mother in the hangar inventorying the medical kit in the Blackbird. Menial, but necessary. So she made her way down to the hangar.

"Want some help?" she asked.

"Love some." Her mother held out a clipboard and pen.

"Thanks. I'm feeling kind of ... lost. At loose ends." Rachel took the clipboard and pen, then sat on the air next to her mother. "No school, and no real X-Men duties yet."

"Scott will probably have us practicing together in the Danger Room before long. Coordinating telekinetic attacks, maintaining combat mindlinks, and only he knows what else he's thought of. We need to replace the tape I used on Hank's ribs."

"That sounds like Dad. Or how you always talked about him." She noted the tape on the list.

Her mother worked quietly for a few minutes, and Rachel realized that this wasn't going to be as distracting as she'd hoped. Her mind kept returning to the night in the cottage. She'd never regret helping Logan regain some of his lost memories, but she had hoped for much more. She'd even worked her courage up enough to kiss him -- and that kiss had been better than her fantasies had been. Maybe the rest would be, too.

Assuming they ever got to the rest.

"Feels like you're thinking heavy thoughts." Her mother's quiet observation broke into her musing. "Want to talk about it?"

"Talk, okay. Not mindlink."

"Talking sometimes helps more than linking."

Rachel blinked at her mother's statement -- but then again, who'd know better the limits of mindlinking than Jean Grey? She took a breath. "There's a guy -- bet you guessed that, didn't you?"

"It would've been one of the first guesses, yes." Then she looked at Rachel, considering. "You know everyone here -- well, everyone who survived -- only as older versions. So is it a guy, or the guy you think he becomes?"

"You were always too damn perceptive for my comfort."

"Mother's intuition, not telepathy. Your grandma has it in spades. You won't be able to avoid the question forever. The antiseptic ointment is outdated."

"I'm not, honest." Rachel noted antiseptic ointment on the pad. "And -- well, I think it's both. I see everything in him now that I saw then."

"Fair enough. And?"

"And -- I talked to him about it. Or tried to. It -- didn't go like I hoped."

"These things rarely do. Flat out rejection?"

"At the least a 'not now' and maybe a flat refusal."

"You have the advantage of knowing him lots better than he knows you. You haven't even been here two weeks yet."

Rachel sighed. "Maybe I just moved too fast. But he's always seemed like the decisive sort to me."

"Most men can be decisive when it comes to sex. Emotional relationships, not so much. Biologically, it makes perfect sense. But we're more than biology."

"All I offered was sex." And that may not have been the best thing to admit to your mother, Rachel realized after she said it.

Her mother seemed to take it in stride, though. "As long as you've got birth control."

"Yeah." Rachel looked at her, curious. "You're not... I don't know, upset that I'm having sex?"

"Upset?" Her mother considered that. "Maybe a little, but I've seen glimpses of your life. I have the impression that you learned to grab happiness where and when you could."

"You taught me that."

"Did I? I suppose Scott's death changed things for me."

"It's good to see you happy. I mean, really happy. You and Keith were ... well, it's different, you and Dad."

Her mother smiled an acknowledgement, then said, "But he -- whoever he is -- hasn't had the same experiences yet. He may be looking for an emotional relationship."

"Maybe."

"Make a note that I should talk to the special forces teams we worked with. Getting one of their crash kits makes sense for the future. No pun intended."

"No pun taken." Rachel made the note.

"I think I know who you're talking about," her mother said. "No, you didn't leak, I'm just going through process of elimination."

Rachel sighed. "I should've known you'd figure it out."

"Before I say what I'm thinking -- I need to confirm. Logan?"

"Logan." No use denying it.

Her mother turned to face her. "That probably explains why he's reluctant -- at least partly."

"What do you mean?"

"When he first got here, he was very attracted to me." Her mother's voice was calm, almost clinical. "I was with Scott, but that didn't seem to matter."

"What happened?"

"He got over it, after a while. But you're my daughter, and you look a lot like me. Can you see where he might be reluctant?" And then her mother gave her a wicked grin. "Not to mention, I can just imagine him telling Scott about it..."

She didn't project, but she did push that image forward, and Rachel had to laugh at the image her mother presented. "Yeah. Yeah, I can see how that might not be the most appealing thing in the world."

"What's not?" Keith's voice echoed in the hangar.

"Girl talk," her mother said smoothly. "It would probably gross you out."

"I have four sisters, so I'm used to it. But I'll still pass, thanks. I just wanted to say goodbye before I head to the airport."

"You're leaving?" Rachel couldn't help blurting.

"The boss thinks I've been slacking off." Keith grinned. "And even telling him I've spent several days with the X-Men, observing their training and getting interviews, hasn't quieted him down the last day or so. I suppose I should go back and actually write the articles."

"Probably so," her mother said.

"Can you come back?" Rachel asked.

"I'll try," Keith said. "But it depends on my vacation and whether you guys are off saving the world or not."

"Your vacation's probably more dependable," her mother said. "But call anytime."

"Can I use you as a resource for mutant genetics articles?"

Her mother laughed. "Sure."

Keith grinned at her, then turned his smile on Rachel. "Looking forward to seeing two redhead telekinetics in the X-Men."

Rachel couldn't help throwing her arms around Keith. "You take care of yourself, you hear me?"

"You too, kiddo," Keith said, returning the hug. "And if you need a normal adult to talk to, you call me."

"We're perfectly normal here," her mother began, then broke off, frowning in concentration.

"Of course. I meant non-X-Men perspective. That's got to be useful, sometimes." Then he lowered his voice. "And sometimes, you just need to talk to a non-parent."

Rachel laughed and forced herself to stand back. He was her father emotionally if not biologically. She knew that he didn't realize that, and knew that she had to start thinking of Cyclops -- Scott -- as Dad. But it wouldn't be easy to change sixteen years of thinking.

With a wave, Keith turned to leave.

"Mom?" Rachel asked when her mother was still quiet. "What's wrong?"

"Not wrong, not yet," her mother answered. "But Scott's got to go to Washington. Hank called."

"So? That's part of his job, isn't it?"

"Did Fitzroy tell you that the incident at the debate was the only thing that needed to change?"

Rachel frowned. "I don't know. Why?"

"Hank wants to discuss some new technologies with Scott -- technologies that could be used against mutants just like Trask's Sentinels could be." Her mother sounded grim. "It may not be over yet."

- X -

If this kept up, Scott thought, he'd soon know Washington as well as he knew Westchester.

Because this was an overnight trip, he'd chosen his motorcycle over a Blackbird, despite the insanely high parking rates in Washington. He'd left it in hotel parking when he arrived, rather than deal with DC traffic, but that was, to his mind, a better choice than leaving a specially modified Blackbird where possibly unscrupulous technical types had free access to it longer than a couple of hours.

He'd spent the night in his hotel room and after an early morning run during which, thankfully, he'd not encountered the president out for his own morning jog, he'd had an overpriced room service breakfast and headed for the Metro.

Jean had understood his concern that the new programs Hank wanted to discuss might be simply Project Wideawake under a different name. It could simply be coincidence, or it might be that their actions at the studio hadn't been enough to completely change Rachel's timeline. Scott wasn't willing to bet on coincidence.

He climbed the stairs out of the Maryland Avenue Metro station, ignoring the escalators, and walked the half block to the Mutant Affairs building. It had once housed the Department of Education, but that department had moved to larger quarters a couple of years back, and now it was fast becoming Hank McCoy's second home. And perhaps his own, too.

Assuming, of course, he could get past the receptionist.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Summers, but Secretary McCoy will be in meetings all day." Like all good receptionists, she managed to imbue a polite lie with a steel that challenged him to call her on it.

"I know," he said. "Meetings with me."

"Your name's not on my list." She'd at least had the courtesy to glance at her computer monitor before saying it.

"It will be." This steel wall didn't need to be punched through, he decided, not when it could be gotten around. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket, dialed Hank's number from memory. When Hank answered, he said, "The Pentagon's already gotten me a badge with my picture on it. You haven't even put my name on the list."

He chuckled at Hank's very undiplomatic reply and disconnected the call. The receptionist's expression shifted from polite wall to interested curiosity. That he hadn't bothered to identify himself told her more than any words he spoke could've.

Her phone rang and he gave thanks that he wouldn't have to make small talk until Hank arrived. He could do it, he just didn't enjoy it.

A door to the left rear of the receptionist opened and Hank stepped through it into the lobby. "It was first on my to-do list this morning, but when I got here at seven, there was -- better if I show you."

Scott had crossed to the door as Hank spoke. "That doesn't sound good, Hank."

"No, it doesn't. Esther, this is Scott Summers," Hank added to the woman at the desk, who'd finished her call. "Also called Cyclops, commander of the X-Men and a good friend. You can let him in whenever he shows up."

"Yes, Mr. Secretary." Esther's voice held the confidence of someone who knew she'd acted correctly in the circumstances.

"Nice to meet you, Esther," Scott called over his shoulder as Hank shoved the door to the inner offices open and led him through it and then a maze of cubicles to his own office at the rear of the building. Scott saw a hodgepodge of humans -- or human-appearing mutants, he amended -- and obvious mutants working in the various cubicles. Seeing a living example of what he and Charles sought to create made him smile.

"It's a start," Hank said, noting his expression.

"Every little bit helps," Scott agreed. "So what disturbed you at seven a.m.?"

"This." Hank slid a bound document across the desk to him. "From Shaw Industries."

Scott felt his jaw tightening at the title of the report, "Enforcing House Arrest and Parole in the Mutant Population."

"The substance of their proposal," Hank said, "is to utilize an automated surveillance system comprised of flying cameras encased in adamantium. Unbreakable."

"Use it for what?"

"Surveillance whenever the criminal leaves his home. A complement to the GPS systems already in use for similar monitoring."

"Why does Shaw Industries think mutants need their privacy invaded more than non-mutants?" Scott tried to keep his question civil, but he had no doubt Hank heard the barely-restrained anger in his voice. They were working for equality, dammit -- why did everyone have to try to shove discriminatory legislation and technology down their throats?

Hank swung onto a bar suspended from the ceiling, looked down at Scott. Scott leaned back in his chair to meet his old friend's gaze. "The powers are a factor that other criminals don't have. And I don't believe the use of this Sentinel program will be universal. It would be limited only to those with gross mutations."

"Like you? Me?" Scott shook his head. "I'll agree that some mutants may be more dangerous than others, and that some mutants may need tighter security because of that, but criminals put on house arrest or even paroled are usually not violent felons, so I'm reluctant to support this."

"I'm meeting with Sebastian Shaw tomorrow afternoon to discuss the proposal. Will you join us?"

"Only if that," he nodded at the proposal, "isn't classified so I can take it and read it in my room tonight."

"It's only a proposal. The technology is trade secret and some of the details will be classified, but that isn't."

"Good enough," Scott said, and tucked the report aside. "What else are we dealing with now?"

"Jury trials for mutant criminals," Hank said. "Until that landed on my desk, I would've said the jury issue is the biggest hurdle we have to jump."

"Why do you say that?"

"We've been lobbying for equal rights," Hank said. "How is discriminating on jury

membership equal rights?"

"I told the president that we handed over Mystique because she's a criminal -- with all the rights that all criminals have. Due process, trial by a jury of her peers. What's the issue?"

"Exactly that," Hank responded. "A jury of her peers. Who are her peers? More precisely, can non-mutants be considered her peers?"

"That's what we're working for, Hank," Scott reminded him. "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, right?"

"What happens when a non-mutant jury sentences a mutant to the cure -- and they will?" Hank asked. "All the Magnetos in the country will be out for blood."

Scott stared at him. "Say again?"

"What?" Hank frowned at the question.

"Say that again -- what happens when a non-mutant jury --?"

"What happens when a non-mutant jury sentences a mutant to the cure?"

It took Scott a few seconds to find the words. "Why is that even an option?"

Hank blinked at him like a demented owl. "What do you mean?"

"No words over two syllables, shouldn't be that hard to understand. Why is it even an option?"

"It's a humane punishment that --"

Scott cut him off. "Humane? How can you look me in the eye and say that's humane?"

"Technically, I'm not looking you in the eye," Hank began, and Scott ripped his glasses off. Hank grimaced. "How is it not humane? It's not the death penalty --"

"It's worse, Hank. Using the suppression serum as barbaric as chopping off a thief's hand," Scott said, surprised by his passion. Was this how Jean felt when she testified before the Senate, full of fire and channeling it to some purpose?

"Not everyone will see it that way."

"Then we have to make them see it that way." What had happened to his old friend? Scott felt a pang of regret that he'd saved Hank in Baja, then guilt rushed after that feeling. "Some punishments are barbaric on their face. We don't cut off thieves' hands or stick hot pokers in people's eyes. We're better than that."

"It won't be used indiscriminately," Hank said, his tone pitched to be soothing. "Only for felons, and I'll be pressing to make it part of sentencing only, and that any jury sentencing a mutant must include mutants. Guilt or innocence crosses all lines -- racial and genetic -- but sentencing, especially for this, must include other mutants."

Scott shook his head, the soothing pitch somehow irritating him more. "No. It's not an option. It can't be an option. Period."

"Alcatraz --"

"I hated the use of the suppression serum then, too. And L.A. It wasn't the time to argue the issue. The greater good and pragmatism won out." Scott rose, paced the room. "But we can't always allow pragmatism to win. We have to start as we want to finish."

"Be reasonable --"

"No. Not on this. There can be no compromise on this, Hank. At all."

"Scott --"

"I told the president not to make us regret fighting his war for him. Don't make me regret saving you in Baja."

Any other time, the hurt betrayal in Hank's eyes would've broken him. But not now. Now he had to stand firm on behalf not only of the X-Men, but of mutants around the country -- no, the world -- who deserved to sleep in peace at night the same as anyone else.

"I'll see you in the morning." He grabbed the Shaw Industries proposal from Hank's desk and left before he said anything more.


	14. Chapter 14

"Mom? I need to talk to y-- why are you in a swimsuit at this time of night?"

"It's not even eight." Jean pulled a wrap over her swimsuit. "I'm meeting Charles at the hot tub. Want to walk with me?"

Rachel's shoulders slumped just a little. "Sure."

"That wasn't the most exciting agreement I've ever seen," Jean teased. Then, "But if you're coming, you need a suit, too."

"We didn't buy one in town. I can wear shorts and a tank top."

"I have a two-piece that should work." Jean turned back to her dresser and opened the top drawer. Scott had bought her a tie bikini when they first got together. She rarely wore it anymore, but it still rested in her drawer. She didn't think he'd object to letting their daughter wear it.

"Umm -- You know him better than I do, but I think you're wrong about that."

"About what?" Jean pulled the bits of green fabric from her drawer.

"His reaction." Rachel looked uncomfortable. "I mean, he didn't like the way Bobby looked at me when I first got here. He's really not going to like me wearing that."

Jean looked at the fabric, then at Rachel. "We have almost the same coloring. It should look stunning on you."

"That's my point, Mom. I'll go borrow something from Kitty and see you there, okay?"

"Okay." Jean put the swimsuit back in the drawer while Rachel hurried down the hall.

She made her way to the hot tub in the enclosed patio that was the most recent addition to the mansion. Charles had ordered it built after the accident that crippled him, complete with sunken hot tub and other apparatus that could be used for physical therapy. In addition to preventing further deterioration, he'd never given in to the thought that he might never walk again.

"I thought it was Terry's turn tonight," Charles said when Jean stepped into the room.

"It's his daughter's birthday." She slipped the wrap off and hung it on a hook, then grimaced when she stepped into the hot tub. "You really do like parboiling yourself, don't you?"

He'd already settled into the hot tub, thanks to the various bars that enabled him to maneuver out of his wheelchair, and now he sat with his arms stretched out to either side of him, apparently relaxing, but Jean knew he was holding himself steady with the strength of his arms alone.

Jean picked up his left leg, began range of motion exercises. "I'd thought we might talk, like we used to, but Rachel's joining us."

"Are you teaching her to be a doctor, too?"

"She said she wanted to talk to me about something. Even with you here, we can still talk."

"Well, I think he needs to hear it, too." Rachel padded to the opposite side of the hot tub from where Jean and Charles sat, and climbed in. "Who turned up the heat?"

Jean laughed while Charles said mildly, "The heat feels good."

"What do we need to hear?" Jean asked. She'd completed range of motion exercises and now held Charles' leg out so she could massage it.

"The other day, when Bobby's parents were here --" Rachel took a breath. "It's easier if I show you. Link?"

"Certainly," Charles said, and a moment later, they were all three linked.

_What's wrong?_ Jean asked.

With images more than words, Rachel gave them the memory of her encounter with William and Madeline Drake, and then her discussion about it with Logan and with Scott.

_Dad said I should talk to a telepath about whether it was wrong or not. I should've done it sooner._

In the privacy of mindlink, Jean realized Rachel's actual hesitation in calling Scott "Dad." She said it easily enough, but there was no love behind it. That knowledge hurt, even though the rational part of her mind knew that Rachel had grown up with nothing but pictures and shared memories of Scott, so there couldn't be real love yet.

_It's not as egregious a violation as some,_ Charles said, and that drew Jean's attention back to the matter at hand. _But I would have to say it's still a violation._

_Would it be a violation if she'd just told them what she knew of Bobby?_ Jean asked.

_No, of course not,_ Charles answered, and Jean moved to his far side to begin work on his other leg.

_So the only thing that makes this a violation is that she used telepathy to do it._ Jean intentionally kept the discussion to words instead of the images and impressions telepathy frequently included.

_She entered their minds without their consent._

_To help change the future,_ Rachel protested. _It was thanks to them and people like them that _this_ happened._

Images, memories, rushed through the link. Jean didn't try to sort them all, simply to absorb the feelings that went with them -- fear and anger predominantly.

She saw Ororo in flight, lightning arcing toward a robot that looked a lot like the Sentinel Trask had unleashed at the debate. The robot raised a hand, and pinpricks of light flew toward Ororo. It was only when Ororo plummeted to the ground that she realized the pinpricks were actually cure darts. Ororo's scream of rage dissolved into harsh sobs, and she didn't even try to resist as men in uniforms took her away.

_Stop,_ Charles said. Even his mental voice sounded shaken.

_No, don't._ Jean's response was fast, firm, and she ignored Charles' astonishment that she'd overrule him. _Show us._

Rachel's mind opened, then, and everything she'd held back flooded over them. Jean was glad she'd finished Charles's therapy while they'd talked. It was all she could do to hold herself steady, much less Charles.

Then she was standing in the cold, huddling between two other people for warmth, and smelling the fresh-turned earth of a new grave. The mutant being buried was a stranger, but that didn't matter. The soft thunk of dirt hitting the plain coffin echoed briskly under someone's quiet recitation of the Twenty-Third Psalm.

Then the chaos of a fight, running behind Logan as he sliced through the fence surrounding a detention camp, and glimpses of stick-thin figures swarming toward the hole he'd made, the alarm sounding, the rat-a-tat of weapons fired, the mad rush away, trying to avoid the Sentinel pursuers.

Her own time in a camp, before Logan rescued her, walking past row after row of markers, each one a reminder of a mutant killed, the oldest ones engraved with the names Charles Xavier and Scott Summers.

Finally, the flood of memories ended, and Jean had a moment of disorientation as her own perceptions reasserted themselves, then moved to take Rachel in her arms. She'd felt the moment emotion had overflowed into tears, but only now had the strength to move to comfort her daughter.

"I couldn't," Rachel sobbed. "I couldn't let it happen again."

"I know," Jean murmured. "I know."

She held Rachel until her tears were spent and her mind was empty and still. The emptiness wouldn't last, she knew that, but for this moment, Rachel was quiet and done grieving.

_Your ethics are different than ours,_ Jean sent into that stillness.

_You told me, you taught me, that going into someone else's mind without reason is wrong._ Rachel's mental voice sounded despairing, and Jean felt the fear that she'd failed echoing in the link.

_It is,_ Charles agreed.

_It is,_ Jean agreed. _The problem is, what constitutes a good reason? Neither Charles nor I have your experiences. Our ethics were shaped in a time of comfort, not a time of war. The X-Men have learned, these past months, that ethics honed in comfort can get you killed in war._

_We're not at war now,_ Charles pointed out.

_Yes, we are._ Jean had to chuckle when she and Rachel sent the same thing, then added, _You're outvoted, Professor._

She kept her mental tone light, but Charles sagged anyway. _I suppose we are. I haven't wanted to admit that, no matter what I said._

_Why?_ Rachel asked, genuinely curious. For a moment, Jean envied her direct approach. She wouldn't feel comfortable asking such a blunt question.

Charles didn't answer, didn't even whisper in the link, but Jean suddenly understood.

_You think it means we've failed,_ she sent. His lack of protest confirmed her hunch. _We haven't, Charles, not yet. The road just isn't as easy as we'd hoped it would be._

Charles nodded, but kept his mental voice still enough that Jean wasn't certain he believed her. She gave a private sigh -- it was his choice what to believe and how to feel, even if she didn't agree with him.

She sat back and looked at Rachel. "Better?"

"Better, I guess." Rachel sounded resigned as she wiped her face, a futile gesture given the amount of steam coming off the water in the hot tub.

"What, you're expecting to have to clean all the bathrooms in the place every day for a month?" Jean chuckled, then sobered. "You didn't force them to change their minds, so you didn't override their choice, their free will. Even for something that matters so deeply to you, all you did was give them information they didn't have."

She felt Charles stirring in the link, and continued, "That doesn't mean I approve of what you did, but you still respected boundaries of choice."

"So how long do I have to clean the bathrooms?" Rachel asked.

"No bathrooms. I do think you should have a talk with Charles about ethics later, though."

It took a moment for Rachel to process what she'd said. "That's it?"

"You won't sound so relieved after you've had my lecture, young lady." Charles's voice came from above them, and Jean realized that while she and Rachel had been talking, Charles had hoisted himself out of the tub and onto his chair. Trust him to take advantage of a slight distraction -- and a subtle _don't notice me_ broadcast -- to avoid either of the telekinetics in the room lifting him out.

Rachel groaned, and Jean said, "Don't be too hard on her, Charles. She's punished herself pretty well already."

Charles smiled as he grabbed a towel. "No harder than I was on you," he said, and it was Jean's turn to groan.

"So you were pretty hard on Mom?" Rachel asked as she climbed out of the hot tub.

She'd meant it lightly, Jean knew from their fading link. But Charles answered it seriously. "I've made mistakes, some quite serious," he said. "But I like to think I've learned from them and won't repeat them."

- X -

At least meeting with a businessman didn't require a three-piece suit, Scott thought, although Sebastian Shaw didn't seem impressed with the tailored suit he did wear. Probably not expensive enough, Scott concluded. The dark-haired man with Shaw had paid more attention to style than expense, Scott decided -- at least if Jean's reaction through their link were any indication.

_Should I be jealous?_ he asked, teasing. She didn't dignify the question with a response.

"Jason Wyngarde," Shaw said by way of introduction. "He's been most helpful with the AI technology."

"I assume you've both read our proposal," Shaw said when introductions concluded. "And I hope you realize that the name of our automated response mechanisms, the Sentinels, was chosen with no knowledge of Trask's project."

"Of course," Hank replied. "The Sentinel robots were only one part of Trask's plan. We can only be thankful that his full plan, which he called Project Wideawake, never got off the ground."

Scott couldn't quite conceal his start of surprise. Shaw's hawk-like eyes landed on him, but it was Wyngarde who asked. "What is it?"

"That's a strange name for a program designed to control mutants." Scott tried to keep his voice nonchalant, but that was the name of the project Rachel had mentioned as going live shortly before she was born. Was this confirmation that they had, in fact, altered the timeline?

"From what Trask said to the district attorney in New York," Hank said, "he believed the Sentinel robots were the first step in becoming wide awake, if you will, to the dangers mutants present to society."

"Which is nonsense, of course," Shaw declared. "Some mutants are a danger, of course, just as some humans are. Which is where our Sentinel devices come in."

"I'm curious," Scott said. "Why do you think mutant criminals need more surveillance than that already provided for house arrest and parolees?"

"Because some mutants are dangerous, Mr. Summers. And on parole or house arrest, they are in situations where they can use their powers unchecked before proper authorities -- perhaps your X-Men, or perhaps other forces trained and equipped to face such powers -- arrive. The Sentinels are only to be triggered in case of the use of their powers, in order to minimize any unfortunate consequences."

"That sounds reasonable," Hank said.

"It does on the surface," Scott agreed. "But the devil is in the details. For example, if we have a pyrokinetic on parole who uses his power to, say, light a cigarette or maybe start a campfire -- what does your Sentinel do then?"

"The Sentinels have advanced AI programming that enables them to evaluate the threat level of a situation," Wyngarde said. "It's not an automatic, power-use-means-fire response. Unlike, for example, what the government sanctioned at Alcatraz."

"And what if our pyrokinetic breaks into a store without using his powers?" Scott asked. The reference to Alcatraz surprised him, and he studied Wyngarde covertly from behind his ruby quartz glasses.

"That's outside the scope of the program," Hank said. "Or so I understood the proposal to mean."

"Exactly right, Mr. Secretary." Shaw had a presence larger than his frame -- and his frame was large enough. He stood an inch taller than Hank and Scott could tell that the bulk beneath his too-expensive suit came from muscle, not fat. "The Sentinels are specifically designed to minimize damages caused by mutant criminals who are violating the terms of their house arrest or their parole by using their powers."

"By measuring neurochemical changes in their bodies as they begin to use their powers, right?" Scott asked.

"Yes. It's a fairly complicated process, although our patented technology can make all the required calculations in microseconds."

"I have a general understanding of the process," Scott told him. It was an unexpected but fortuitous side effect of the link he shared with Jean. He'd been able to share the reading with her and she'd translated most of it into terms he understood. "How are those changes measured? More accurately, how are the readings transmitted to the main unit for it to make those calculations?"

"A small transmitter is injected subcutaneously," Wyngarde explained. "It is in constant communication with the main unit, and if any of the neurochemical reactions associated with the criminal using his power occur, it triggers the analysis response in the main unit."

"You're talking about an invasive procedure, then."

"Minimally invasive. It's the only way to measure internal changes," Shaw said.

"It's more invasive than the bracelets parolees wear now."

"The cases aren't entirely similar," Hank pointed out.

"More similar than dissimilar," Scott said. "The normal bracelet won't stop a non-mutant from picking up a gun and killing someone. Your Sentinels do. I'd say that's discrimination."

"Not all discrimination is bad," Shaw countered. "It behooves us as responsible citizens to exercise our discrimination wisely."

"Wisely, absolutely," Scott agreed. "But your program sounds like it's based in fear, not considered choice."

"That's rather harsh, Scott." Hank sounded distressed. Scott wished he could care about Hank's distress, but since Hank had allowed diplomacy to overrule logic, he had to be firmer than he would normally be.

"I'm calling it like I see it, Hank," Scott said. "I see someone thinking, oh, no, a mutant criminal is out on parole, and what if he uses his powers against me? And then designing a program that on its surface looks innocuous enough, but is in fact one more tool to keep mutants in their 'place' -- cowering in fear."

Shaw didn't move, but the air was suddenly so charged that Scott expected to see Hank's fur standing on end.

"I am not afraid of any mutant." Shaw pronounced each word with care. Then his expression relaxed, if only slightly. "I do wonder, though, why you are so concerned about the treatment of criminals."

"I'm concerned about the treatment of mutants," Scott answered. "Criminal or otherwise."

"Surely the non-criminals deserve your concern more than criminals," Shaw countered. "Criminals by definition are not civilized."

Scott felt his eyebrows lifting. "Whether they are or not is irrelevant. I'm civilized. Hank's civilized. I assume you and Wyngarde are civilized -- and there are certain things that civilized, moral people do not do. Things like authorize the use of the suppression serum. Things like discriminate on the basis of something genetic, that we have no control over happening to us."

"Some mutants are a danger to society," Shaw said. "Taking steps to mitigate that danger is only reasonable."

"I don't disagree," Scott told him. "I'm just not convinced the steps you're proposing are reasonable."

"They're eminently reasonable," Shaw said carefully. "Compared to someone like Senator Kelly, who wanted to make every mutant a criminal by enacting legislation. I seek only to ensure those who have already broken the law and proven themselves unfit for civilized society do not pose a greater danger in the future. The rest of us have better things to do with our lives than worry about criminal malcontents."

"I see." Scott tried to keep his tone neutral, but some of his disgust must have leaked through, because Wyngarde gave him a sharp look.

"What would convince you that these steps are reasonable?" Shaw kept the same careful control, though Scott had the impression Shaw would be just as happy to hit him as talk with him.

"A demonstration. You do have a prototype?" Scott gave the question a slight emphasis, suggesting that perhaps Shaw didn't have a prototype and the proposal was so much bunk.

"Of course." The only sign of Shaw's anger was a slight tension around his eyes.

"Then a demonstration shouldn't be difficult to arrange," Scott said casually. "At your convenience, of course?"

Shaw considered a moment while Wyngarde simply waited and Hank wisely kept silent. Finally, Shaw said, "Will this weekend suit?"

"Certainly," Scott agreed.

"Very well. Then I invite you and Secretary McCoy to be my guests for the weekend." Shaw opened an engraved business card case and withdrew two cards, handing one each to Hank and Scott.

"The Hellfire Club?" Scott glanced at Hank when he read the card.

"It's a private club in New York," Hank said. "Membership is by invitation only."

"Indeed." Shaw concealed any surprise he might have that Hank knew of it. "And while Shaw Industries has done the bulk of the work on the Sentinel program, many of its backers are members, as Jason and I are. The Club is having a fete Saturday night, and it would be an excellent opportunity for you to meet some of the minds behind the project."

"Surely you won't have a demonstration at the party?" Hank asked.

Shaw chuckled, but there was no humor in it. "I'll arrange a demonstration for Sunday morning. Please feel free to bring any advisors you may feel necessary."

"I'll look forward to it," Hank said.

Shaw rose, and Wyngarde followed suit. "I'll make certain your names are on the Club's guest list for Saturday. Gentlemen."

Once Shaw and Wyngarde had departed, Scott let out a breath. Hank turned to him. "Must you be so confrontational?"

"Must you be so conciliatory?" He shook his head. "Sorry, Hank. But Shaw's a businessman. He didn't get where he is being unable to take a challenge."

"Whether or not this particular program is approved, Shaw Industries has a lot of government contracts. Antagonizing him might make dealing with other cabinet offices difficult." Hank gave him a pointed look. "Not to mention the Pentagon."

"Things like this," Scott gestured at the copy of the proposal still lying on the table, "will set the tone for future dealings between mutants and non-mutants. We have to start as we mean to end, and if we mean to have equality, then that's where we start."

"There are more diplomatic ways to begin."

"Equality isn't given. It's fought for. I'd rather fight with words than weapons." Then he remembered. "You don't know what's going on, do you? What happened at the debate?"

"I saw it on the news, of course." Hank frowned. "Jean said something about telling me the whole story, but it must've slipped her mind."

"The future of mutant relations is on all of our minds right now," Scott said, and proceeded to explain everything that had happened since Rachel's arrival.

Hank listened closely, and when Scott finished, he said, "You're concerned that Shaw's program may be related to Trask's?"

"I don't know what to be concerned about, Hank." Scott let some of his frustration into his voice. "We stopped Trask, but we have no guarantee that was all that needed to be done. And if some of the speculation I've read about time travel is even remotely correct, it may be that one fight wasn't enough to change the timeline completely, that time will be struggling to 'right itself', if you will, and bring it back in line so that Rachel's future still happens. Where do I begin trying to fight time itself?"

Hank shook his head. "Things are a lot more interesting now than when we were students."

"In the Chinese sense of the word -- cursed," Scott agreed. "But Rachel says that we're at a nexus on a prime timeline, and what happens now will affect not just our own future, but the futures of many other timelines. So if I'm a little more confrontational than you'd like, or I take a hard-line approach, it's because there are literally billions of lives at stake across multiple timelines, and the X-Men seem to be the only thing standing between them and catastrophe."


	15. Chapter 15

Posting early this week, as I'll be out of town this weekend. Conveniently, it's kind of a long chapter, too.

I still don't own them, though some days, I'd really, really like to.

X X X X X

Scott emerged from Hank's office, blinked into the afternoon sun. The meeting with Shaw and Wyngarde and the conversation with Hank afterward had left him drained. He preferred a physical battle to one of words any day -- despite what he'd said to Hank. But at least that particular battle was under a temporary truce. Now he only needed to call his mother to confirm that they were still having dinner that night.

He turned toward the Metro station, reached for the phone at his hip.

"Mr. Summers."

Scott turned at the voice behind him, grateful that his glasses concealed his stare. Jason Wyngarde seemed to have stepped right out of a shadowy corner. "Mr. Wyngarde."

"I wondered if you'd satisfy my curiosity," Wyngarde said.

"I thought we addressed most of the questions in the meeting."

"These questions aren't about the Sentinel project. Have a drink?"

Scott glanced at the time on his phone. "As long as it doesn't take more than an hour. I have an appointment this evening."

Five minutes later, they were seated at a table in a corner restaurant. Wyngarde ordered a Scotch -- "The MacAllan, if you have it. If not, any good single malt." -- and raised an eyebrow when Scott ordered coffee.

"You had questions?" Scott prompted once they'd placed their orders.

"I admire your dedication to the mutant cause," Wyngarde said. He smiled slightly. "And your willingness to be revealed as a mutant. Even without the Registration Act, it can't be easy."

"Nothing worth doing ever is," Scott countered. "But we needed positive mutant images to counter the hateful rhetoric people like Senator Kelly spew. Nobody else stepped up to do the job, so we had to."

Wyngarde appeared to consider that. "That seems an odd contradiction."

"Contradiction? How so?"

"In the interviews after you defeated Magneto, you said that you'd worked with the military."

"A team of SEALs and a team of Delta Force. Couldn't have done it without them."

"You stand for the mutant cause. You present a positive image of mutants. And now you say you couldn't have defeated Magneto without human assistance?"

"Magneto's fatal flaw was a … contempt for non-mutants. He didn't consider that they could fight him and win. He had traps set for my team, but not for the Spec Ops guys. It took mutants and humans working together -- something he considered impossible -- to win."

"Doesn't that concern you?"

"Doesn't what concern me?" Scott frowned as the server set his coffee in front of him.

"Allying so closely with the military, when you must know they'd just as soon force you to work for them."

"I'd rather be their ally than their enemy," Scott said after he'd taken a swallow of coffee and winced. Though he normally preferred his coffee black, this cup needed sugar. "It's the only rational thing to do."

"Rational?" Wyngarde took a sip of the Scotch. "From your perspective, I suppose so. From theirs, however -- if I were you, I'd be wary of them."

"That sounds like there's something specific behind it."

"Something specific, indeed. And personal." Wyngarde turned his glass, apparently studying the play of light across the amber liquid it contained. "And, ironically, it's already touched you and your X-Men."

"Oh? How?"

"Do you remember Jason Stryker?"

A chill ran down Scott's spine. "I met him, once, when he came to the school for a consultation about his ability."

"He was named for his father, you know." Still Wyngarde studied the liquid in his glass.

"Colonel Stryker's name was William, wasn't it?"

"You assume William Stryker was his father." Now Wyngarde looked up at Scott. "He wasn't. I was."

"I see." Scott sat still. He hadn't encountered Jason Stryker personally during the Alkali Lake mess, but Charles had told him what had happened to the young man.

"A youthful indiscretion while the colonel was away on one of his many projects. Which is not to say that Arlene and I weren't fond of each other." Wyngarde took another sip of the Scotch, set his glass on the table. "Jason also inherited his mutant gene from me."

"Stryker brought Jason to the school for Charles to 'cure' him," Scott said.

"Stryker was afraid of him. Of all mutants. So he enslaved them."

"And tried to kill us all."

Wyngarde didn't understand Scott's comment, but his expression remained serious. "You understand my reluctance to work with the military after what Stryker did to my son. Even more since he believed Jason was his own."

"Stryker was rogue," Scott said. "Not all military -- very few, in my experience -- are like him."

"Look how far he got with his plan before anyone stopped him," Wyngarde countered. "And from what you say, he wasn't stopped by the military, but by you X-Men. For which you have my thanks."

Scott shifted in his seat, regarded Wyngarde soberly. "Jason died there. I'm sorry."

Wyngarde matched his expression. "I grieved his death, but after what Stryker did to him, I can't help but think it was a blessing."

Scott nodded and took a swallow of coffee. There was nothing to say to that, and he was still reeling from the implications of the conversation so far.

"I hope your trust in the military -- the entire government -- isn't misplaced," Wyngarde said.

"I'm working with them, but that doesn't mean I trust them." Scott gave him a half-smile. There was only one member of the military that he trusted, and that was his father. Even so, he never entirely forgot that he'd been estranged from his father for several years, and as a result didn't know him as well as he once did.

Wyngarde matched the smile. "Wise man."

"I've recently become a father myself," Scott said after a moment, "so I understand your caution very well."

"Congratulations," Wyngarde said because it was expected. Scott gave a perfunctory nod of acknowledgment as Wyngarde focused intently on him. "We share the same goal, you know."

"How do you figure that?" Scott blurted.

"We don't want them," Wyngarde indicated normal humans with a sideways glance, "deciding our fate for us."

"Shaw's Sentinels give that power over to them."

"Against criminals, yes. But I meant the rest of us -- those of us who aren't scum."

Scott felt a predator's grin forming, controlled it with difficulty. "For a man with no trust in the military, you have great faith that the power won't be used against non-criminal mutants."

Wyngarde matched his grin. "I have faith in Shaw."

Something about Wyngarde's expression sent Scott's instincts to battle-alertness. "I hope to see why at the demonstration."

"I have an engagement elsewhere," Wyngarde said, "but I'm confident you'll be persuaded."

- X -

Logan stared at the shelves of books in the school's library, barely willing to admit to himself that they were intimidating. He'd faced down Sabretooth, Juggernaut, and Magneto -- why should books be intimidating?

He followed the subject guides until he found the section on Japanese history. Most of it, he noted, was modern history, dealing with the period since the Second World War. Instinct told him to pick the volumes dealing with its earlier history first, so he pulled the four books from the shelf and decided that, since school was out for the term, staying in the library to browse through them was as reasonable as carting the books out to the cottage. Or up on the roof. Or any of the other half-dozen places he'd discovered where he could be alone.

He opened a book at random and paged through it, reading the opening paragraphs of each chapter and subheading. And then he realized why the books intimidated him.

He could read, but he had the feeling he'd learned to read before it was a common skill, and certainly before books were widely available, and so it would never be his first choice of hobby. He doubted he'd ever even appreciate audio books the way Scott and Peter did.

In any event, he had the library to himself, and there was no better time to try to jar more memories loose.

Twenty minutes and ten chapters later, a familiar scent tinged his awareness. "I'm not dreaming now."

Rachel came up to stand beside him. "I was just passing by." She glanced at the books. "Searching for Yuriko?"

"Trying to."

"Suggestion?"

"Sure."

She didn't answer immediately, simply went to the shelves and brought back a traveler's guide to Japan.

"Memory is image based and scent based, not word based, usually." She put the book in front of him. "And while some things may have changed over time, the oldest buildings should still look about the same." Then she laughed. "And if all else fails, you can always watch _Zatoichi_."

Logan grinned. She was easy to be around, unlike so many other people. She didn't expect him to be more than he was.

"At least you didn't get a children's book," he quipped and pulled the traveler's guide closer.

"Too tame." She picked up a different book than the one he'd been looking at, sat down opposite him.

He paged past the information on obtaining visas, demographics, and other details. If he ever decided to visit Japan, he'd need that information, but right now it was a distraction at best.

He didn't try to follow any particular plan, just let the pages and his fingers take him where they would. His first stop was Kyoto, which the guide said had been the capital of Japan and the residence of the imperial family until 1868.

The picture of the modern, even futuristic, train station did nothing for him. Neither did the Heian Shrine, which the text said had been built in 1895. It was the Nanzenji Temple that caught his eye and attention.

The photo showed only the main entrance, with its colonnaded two-story high gate and stone steps. But he knew that from the upper story there were views of the city and the grounds. Inside, on the ground floor, there were monks' cells with their slatted doors and futon mats for sleeping.

He'd been there, he knew. Had he been a monk? That seemed unlikely, but he couldn't discount the possibility.

Oddly, pictures of the rural town of Kurama and its hot springs called to him. "I lived there."

"Where?" Rachel asked, and only then did he realize he'd spoken aloud.

"Kurama." He turned the book so she could see the photo. "Mount Kurama is where Sojobo, king of the tengu, taught swordsmanship to Yoshitsune."

"When?"

"Centuries ago, if it really happened. It's a legend."

"No, sorry," Rachel smiled. "I meant, when did you live there?"

"The Late Tokugawa Shogunate," he answered without thinking. "Just before the Meiji Ishin."

Then he realized what he'd said and stared at Rachel.

"That was the late 1800's, right?" she said.

He checked the guidebook. "After Commodore Perry opened it up to the West in 1854 -- shit."

Rachel didn't press for details, and he turned the pages as he tried to absorb the fact that he was at the least a couple of centuries old. A page turned, and his breath caught at the photo that faced him. Half a page by itself, it depicted a woman in traditional geisha garb. The caption described the Kamogawa Odori, a public performance by geisha held in the spring in Kyoto's Pontocho district, but Logan had other memories, memories of being entertained by a true geisha --

Yuriko.

"Rae, link. There's something I can't quite see." He hadn't meant to snap it like an order, but the teasing images were frustrating.

Then he felt her presence in his mind and she did -- something, he had no words to describe it -- and the images that danced out of reach came crystal clear.

Yuriko had been geisha, and he a samurai, and he had married her. Only after they'd been married for some time had he realized she wasn't aging. She'd come to the same conclusion, and they'd rejoiced in never being alone again.

_That's all. I'm sorry._

"S'okay, Rae. It's more than I had." Logan took her hand, squeezed it. "And maybe more than I needed."

Their gazes locked, and Logan found himself almost entranced by her eyes. Blue, that piercing, sparkling blue that marked the Summers men, and now this Summers daughter as well. So unlike Jean's velvety brown eyes that invited a man to take comfort and ease, Rachel's blue eyes promised sparring, a battle of wits that would challenge a man to be his best.

"Was that your but?" Rachel asked quietly.

"Huh?" Logan frowned and tried to focus on her question instead of those eyes.

"When I offered -- there was a but. Was that it, that you don't know how old you are?"

"One of 'em."

She nodded, and pulled her hand away, her expression glum.

Not for the first time, Logan wondered why he'd refused her then and why he still refused her now. There were few enough chances at happiness in this world -- when one came by, it should be grabbed. Or at least not chased away.

"Why me?" he asked.

She blinked at him. "What do you mean, why me?"

"It's a simple question." Simple to him, anyway.

"Because --" she began, then paused and took a breath.

In the second before she spoke again, his cell phone rang.

With a curse, he pulled it from his pocket. He looked at her. "Responsible."

"Yeah. Responsible." She managed a weak grin, and that would have to be enough for now. He snapped the phone open.

"Logan."

"You need to see this." Jean's voice, tight with anger. "The game room, now."

He was on his feet before she'd finished speaking, heading toward the door at a run, Rachel a half-step behind him.

In the game room, Jean stood with Kitty and a half-dozen other students, watching the television with grim expressions.

"A building collapsed in the city," Jean said. "Just minutes ago. It doesn't look like the rescue crews can approach all of it, given the way it fell."

Logan took in the scene on the screen in a glance. "We can. Suit up. Jean, Rae, Kitty, Peter. Let's go."

- X -

"We're gonna have to get more transportation," Logan grumbled from the co-pilot's seat of the Blackbird. The New York skyline was in sight moments after they'd lifted off from the hangar. "Taking the jet to go into the city is a waste."

"Even Scott's motorcycle isn't faster than the Blackbird," Jean told him from her place in the pilot's seat.

"Unwieldy as hell, though. Where are you gonna land?"

"Conveniently," Jean banked the jet and nodded out the cockpit window, "they've cordoned off the streets for three blocks in each direction. Plenty of room for a VTOL plane to take off and land in an intersection."

Logan had to admit she was right. As soon as she'd touched down, even before she'd shut off the engines, he was striding toward the rear of the jet. The ramp opened as he approached, revealing a frowning policeman.

"I don't know who you think you are," the policeman, whose badge read Rawls, began. Logan cut him off.

"I'm Wolverine. The X-Men are here to help you get the survivors out."

He felt Jean, Rachel, Peter and Kitty moving up to stand flanking him, and the policeman raised an eyebrow. Logan could almost hear him thinking, "These knockout babes are the X-Men?"

"You sensing any survivors?" he asked over his shoulder to Rachel and Jean.

"Your call, Phoenix," Rachel said. Logan remembered she'd told him before that her telepathy wasn't as strong as Jean's.

Jean stepped down the ramp, turned to face the wreckage -- what little of it she could see through the dust that still lingered around the site.

"You've got a dozen survivors, Officer Rawls," Jean said. "Some are injured, some are just trapped in air pockets."

"How do you --?" The policeman broke off. "Never mind. Come with me."

He led the X-Men to where a group of firemen stood looking at a set of blueprints spread out on the hood of a police car.

"Can you show us where the survivors are?" the fire captain, whose nametag read Spinoza, said when Jean had repeated what she'd sensed. Jean pointed to various locations on the floor plan, and the captain grunted. "Not much help if we don't know what the conditions are around them."

"That's where we come in," Logan said.

"What can you do that we can't?" the captain asked.

"Just watch." He nodded to Rachel, and a moment later they were all linked.

_Jeannie, you help Kitty find them. Rae, if Kitty needs support, or help with the debris, you're on that duty. Pete, stand by for emergency support or otherwise help clear debris._ He felt their acknowledgments, then focused on Kitty. _You check with Jeannie on all of them. No sense aggravating injuries if we can avoid it. If you need any support, you tell us what and we'll get it for you._

_Right._ She grinned and then jogged toward the remains of the building.

"Hey!" Spinoza yelled. "You can't go there, the building's not stable."

"Relax," Logan told him. "She'll just walk through it."

"Walk through it?" Spinoza stared as Kitty disappeared into the rubble.

The next few hours passed slowly for Logan, whose only job was to monitor the situation and help move people and equipment as needed -- though having Peter along to help made that job easier. Kitty followed Jean's telepathic directions to the survivors, and then followed Jean's recommendations for moving them out of the rubble. She phased Rachel in to hold some of the debris in place when she found a mother and child trapped together and moving either one would dislodge the debris onto the other.

Finally, the last of the survivors were safely out, and Kitty fell more than sat on the fender of a police car, gasping and swallowing water as though she hadn't drunk in a week. Jean had moved to assist the paramedics with injuries. That meant he'd have to be the one to talk to the press. He wasn't looking forward to it, would rather have Sabretooth throw him into a tree again, but it needed to be done, and he was the only one who could do it.

Logan moved up with Rawls and Spinoza, silently daring them to object to his presence at this impromptu press conference. He stood behind and to one side of them while they described the rescue efforts. And then the question that he'd been expecting came.

"So what are the X-Men doing here?" A blonde woman called. "Did mutants trash the building?"

"No, there's no evidence of that," Spinoza said, then gestured to Logan. "But Wolverine can tell you why they're here better than I can."

"We saw the collapse on the news," Logan told the blonde reporter. "And we came to help. It doesn't matter whether mutants were involved in the building collapse or not. We can help in ways non-mutants, however skilled, and there are tons of skilled people like Captain Spinoza out there, can't," Logan said.

"Can't?" The blonde challenged. "Do you know that? Or did you just take over because you could?"

Logan glared at her. "We're not trying to horn in or steal anyone's thunder, just save lives. Or would you rather those people were still trapped in there?"

The blonde woman had no immediate response, so he pressed the point. "Our team got the survivors out of the wreckage in less than an hour, and that means they were getting medical care faster and will recover better than they would've without us."

That seemed to satisfy the crowd, but enough was enough. Logan turned to Rawls. "Figure you might as well give it to me now."

Rawls frowned. "Give what to you?"

"The ticket you're gonna give us for illegally parking the jet."

The gathered reporters laughed. Rawls stared at him for the moment it took him to process Logan's words, then joined in. "I think we can survive the loss of a couple of hundred in parking fines. Small price to pay for your help."

_We're not done yet._

_Christ._ He reacted without thinking to the two voices that echoed in his mind. _Others still trapped inside?_

_No._ This time it was just Rachel's voice. _Milk it._

Logan gave her a mental glare, and turned back to the reporters. "Any other questions?"

"Can we talk to the others?" A dark-haired man asked.

_I'm still busy with the paramedics,_ Jean told him.

"Sure," Logan said. "C'mon up here." With a glance, he gathered Kitty and Rachel. "Phoenix is still helping treat the wounded, but the rest of us are here."

As Kitty took her place next to him, he leaned over enough to whisper, "Just remember whatever code name you pick now, you're stuck with."

Kitty elbowed his ribs as the dark-haired man came forward one step. "Miss -- I'm sorry, what do we call you?"

"Pixel," she said. Logan raised an eyebrow, but had to admit it was no worse than others he'd heard she'd tried out.

"What does it feel like, Pixel? Walking through walls?"

Kitty didn't even glance at Logan when she said, "Want to find out?"

The reporter blinked. "What?"

"I can phase you if I touch you, and we can walk through --" she glanced around -- "those vending machines over there."

The reporter looked a little stunned, then queasy, but swallowed and nodded. Kitty took his hand and while everyone's attention -- and cameras -- were focused on them, Logan took a step closer to Rachel.

"You have a code name, in your time?"

Rachel shook her head. "No use for them. Too busy trying to stay alive."

"Want one?"

Rachel chuckled. "It looks like I need one, whether I want it or not. You have any ideas?"

"Sphinx."

"Sphinx?" Rachel pursed her lips in thought, and Logan fought the urge to kiss her right there. Her glance at him told him she'd picked up on his thought, and also that she wasn't going to follow up on it -- not right now, anyway. "Egyptian creature, like the original phoenix, and it even sounds similar to it. I like the connections. Thanks."

"Any time." She smiled at him, and it sent a familiar tightness to his groin. _Christ, not in front of Jeannie. And all these reporters._

Rachel chuckled, and Logan was grateful for the reporters' return with more questions. The one who'd walked through vending machines with Kitty looked like he'd recovered from the shock of the experience, and some other reporters were scrambling for a chance to try it, but enough pelted him, Rachel, and Peter with questions that he could focus on that rather than the look in her eyes. For now.

- X -

"That's better," Logan told Kitty as the two ball sank into the pocket at the corner of the pool table.

Kitty nodded and moved around the table to line up her next shot. She'd ambushed him that evening, challenging him to a game to see how much her skills had improved. Her break had been solid, though she hadn't sunk any balls with it.

He'd chosen stripes and sunk the ten and the twelve, then missed a three-rail bank shot, and now she'd sunk the two and was lining up on the five.

Scent arrived in time with the footsteps that approached, thanks to central air conditioning, and Logan didn't bother to look up. "Glad you're here. I could use some easy money after this game."

"You do realize I have an innate geometric sense, right? Side effect of the power?" Scott paused next to him and watched Kitty line up her shot.

"Smartass," Logan muttered, and Kitty laughed.

"I didn't have to warn you," Scott said. "Kitty, you're off alignment about ten degrees."

"Left?"

"Your left, yes." Scott had barely finished his sentence before the crack of cue stick hitting cue ball ricocheted in the room.

The five went into the near side pocket, and Logan had to admit she'd made a good shot. But she chose to line up on the four next, a banked shot that she chose only because it was the best of her choices.

She glanced up at Scott. "Any tips?"

"Just pretend the cue ball is his head," Scott nodded at Logan. "And hit it with all you've got."

"Chuck's head," Logan corrected. "I have hair."

The quip made Kitty laugh and she missed the shot. "No fair kibitzing."

"All's fair in love and war," Logan said. "And pool."

He chalked his cue stick while he studied the table. He had an easy line up on the nine and could manage a decent leave for the fourteen. After that, things got tricky.

"Speaking of war," Scott said. "You got off a good salvo in the public opinion war earlier."

Logan grunted and sank the nine. The cue ball rolled a bit further than he'd intended, so his angle on the fourteen wasn't as good as it could've been. He bent over the table and tapped the cue ball. It caromed off the fourteen at an angle, sending it into a side pocket.

"Am I in trouble for that?" Kitty asked.

"For what?" Scott glanced from her to Logan, clearly baffled. Logan shrugged and scowled at the table.

"Phasing those reporters."

"I think it was some of the best PR we could've had. It let people see that powers don't have to be scary. Nice shot," Scott added as Logan sank the eleven on a two-rail bank shot.

"You just came by to kibitz us both?" Logan asked.

"No, I came by to tell you that I'll be gone the rest of the week."

"What's up?" Logan asked.

"I'm heading out to Arizona to test the extent of my powers," Scott said, "then I'm meeting Jean in New York this weekend. She's leaving Friday morning, and we'll both be back sometime Sunday afternoon. We have a meeting with Hank and some tech-types."

"Better you than me," Logan muttered and cursed when he missed sinking the fifteen. He moved back to stand beside Scott while Kitty lined up on the one. Then he grinned at the younger man. "You don't get all the girls, this time."

Scott laughed. "I'm happy with the one I have."

"Guess I'm stuck with Kitty and 'Ro."

"And Marie," Kitty said without looking up from the shot she studied. "And Rachel."

And Rachel. Logan savored those words for a moment. No chance that Jean would pick them up in New York, and Xavier had all the sex drive of leftover roadkill. There could be no better time for them to finish their interrupted talk.

- X -

"There's this place called the Nevada Test Site," Alex said as he shut off the truck he'd driven out into the desert northeast of Phoenix. "It was designed and built for nuclear testing. Seems like it would be perfect for testing your powers."

Beside him, Scott shook his head and opened the door. "I'd have to get clearance to go there, and that means I'd have to tell them why I wanted to go there."

"You say that like they're the bad guys." Alex moved around to the rear of the pickup and lowered the gate.

"Somebody once said the most dangerous words ever spoken are, 'I'm from the government and I'm here to help.' They'd be offering to 'help' in a heartbeat, and I'm not giving them the chance to get that close to my powers."

"You don't trust any of them, do you?" Alex hauled a spectrometer out of the truck and set it on the ground.

"I trust Dad. Mostly. Nobody else." Scott swung himself into the bed of the pickup and shoved boxes containing various measuring apparatus toward Alex.

"Paranoid."

"It's not paranoia when they really are out to get you. Or have been. The Registration Act came close to passing. Besides, you're the one who said if they think my power's too strong, they'll look at my family."

Alex grabbed a box containing an interferometer and grunted. "Why didn't you bring your fiancée?"

"Because she has her own work to do? But mostly because she's pregnant."

The interferometer hit the ground with more of a thud than Alex would've liked. "Hope that didn't break. Pregnant?"

"Yeah. Days. A week at the most."

"So --" Alex took the next box Scott shoved toward him. "How do you know? I thought the tests weren't accurate until a month along or so."

"That's an X-Men weird story."

"Then you can tell me while we set up."

Scott told him. While they hooked the equipment to the portable generator, Alex said, "So Jean's pregnant with a daughter that's already been born and traveled back in time to save your life. Okay, I can deal with that. I think."

"You'll like her. Rachel, I mean. I probably should've introduced you when you were in Westchester."

"We had other things to talk about. You ready?"

Scott took a breath and handed Alex his glasses. "As I'll ever be."

"Why do you still wear these?" Alex tucked the glasses into a pocket of his cargo shorts.

"So they get used to dealing with mutants who can't pass for normal. Are you ready?"

Alex pulled a handheld meter from his truck. "Go for it. Start with a normal blast."

"Normal?" Scott repeated, clearly amused.

"Whatever you'd use as a baseline. You know, normal." Alex glared at him, and he laughed.

"Okay, normal blast, coming up."

Alex stared at the ruby fire that erupted from his brother's eyes. He'd seen it before, but even so, it was stunning, and it was a moment before he remembered to check his instruments.

"Good," Alex murmured, and Scott turned off the blast. "Okay, now whatever you want. Just tell me how you perceive it."

"This is what I used to stop Juggernaut." Scott paused. "Is that species of cactus over there endangered?"

Alex looked in the direction of Scott's pointing finger. "No, that's a Joshua tree. Just about as common as dirt."

Almost before he'd finished the sentence, the tree disappeared in a flaming instant, and the ground behind it erupted in a long scar as Scott's blast continued its path.

"Readings jumped significantly," Alex observed. "You have other benchmarks?"

"Yeah." Scott sounded grim. "What I used in Baja."

"Baja? -- Oh." Baja. When Magneto had tweaked Scott's power to rip apart the San Andreas Fault. Alex adjusted the instruments for a higher level blast. "Ready when you are."

After a moment in which nothing happened, Alex looked up. "I said I'm ready, Scott."

"I heard you."

He hadn't heard his brother's voice sound that hollow before. Intuition gave him the cause, and he moved to rest a hand on Scott's shoulder. "He's not here, Scott. Nothing's going to happen."

Alex barely felt the tremor that ran through his brother. "Right. Nothing except another Joshua tree biting the dust."

Scott targeted another Joshua tree. This one simply disintegrated in a split second, no flames visible.

"It didn't bite the dust," Alex said. "It became dust."

Bad as it was, the quip made Scott chuckle. "You said they're not endangered."

"They're not," Alex assured him. He hesitated just a moment, then said, "Want to talk about it?"

"Not much to talk about," Scott said. "I was used. Again. Which is why I'm here, and we're doing this testing -- so it doesn't happen again, with worse consequences."

"Right." If Scott wanted to keep this to business, Alex could do that. "How does that power level feel, compared to the others?"

Scott stared at him, as though he'd never thought of it that way before, and it was almost a full minute before Scott said, "If baseline is a candle flame, Juggernaut was a campfire."

"And Baja?" Alex prompted.

"Baja was -- a house burning."

Alex swallowed. "Geometric increase?"

"Like so." This time, Scott looked around for an empty patch of ground and aimed his blast at it. Alex watched as the path left by his brother's power became deeper and wider and blacker.

"I'm not seeing anything strange," Alex said. "Beyond the obvious, that is."

"I'm feeling something strange." Scott was frowning. "Like there's another -- I don't know -- level? -- of power. Something I haven't seen before."

"What?" Alex adjusted the instrument in his hand.

"This --" Scott fell silent and Alex could read the concentration in his expression.

For long moments, the desert was still around them. A slight breeze ruffled Alex's hair, and he shoved it out of his eyes impatiently.

"Gotta say, Scotty, if this is your new power, it's pretty underwhelming."

"Give me a minute." His brother's voice sounded strained.

The machine in his hand beeped. "Scott -- whoa, bro! Stop whatever you're doing, you're whacking out local gravity."

Even as he spoke, Alex felt himself tugged toward his brother. He backed away, but the pulling sensation persisted.

"Almost got it."

"What part about ripping the planet apart didn't you get?" Alex demanded. "Feel that wind coming at you in all directions? You're acting like a miniature black hole."

Scott's expression held a determination Alex hadn't seen in a long time. "No, there's something else --"

He vanished.

- X -

"So how'd we get roped into this?"

Jean smiled at her daughter's question. "Two telekinetics make decorating for the prom go a lot faster."

"You never told me about your prom," Rachel said, kneeling to open one of the boxes that now littered the floor of the grand hall. It was one of the joys of such an old building, Jean thought, even if the space did sit empty most of the year.

"I never had one." Jean opened another box.

"That doesn't seem fair. What's this?"

Jean glanced at the object her daughter levitated in front of her. "Nowadays, they're called disco balls. Technically, I think a mirror ball? Or maybe a ball mirror. They rotate on a vertical axis and send light dancing over the people below them. Very classy, I'm told, outside of the disco context."

"If you say so. So how come you never had a prom?" Rachel set the ball aside, dug back into the box.

"Kind of silly to have a prom for just Hank and me. The professor took us to dinner in the city when we graduated." She found the metallic stars Hank had made in his version of shop class, floated them across the hall to the fireplace. For the prom, they'd adorn the mantle.

"How many students do you need for a prom not to be silly? And where do you want these gold streamers?"

"They'll crisscross the ceiling, with the ball in the center," Jean replied. "And -- and --"

She broke off, frowning, reaching with her telepathic sense. Where was Scott? His presence had faded from her mind.

"Mom?" Rachel was by her side. "What's wrong?"

"Scott --" It was all she could say, and in a heartbeat, her daughter had joined her telepathically.

_What's wrong with Dad?_

_I don't sense him._ Panic welled within her, and she fought it down. She had to stay calm if she were to have any hope at finding him.

_We'll look together._ Rachel's calm words steadied her. Then, _Feel that?_

_Yes -- what --_ As one, Jean and Rachel turned toward the fireplace. The air looked heavy there, and Jean felt it pressing against her skin.

Then Scott stood there, blinking as he looked around, and his presence bloomed in her mind.

"Scott!" She ran into his arms. "I didn't feel you, you were gone -- what happened?"

His arms folded around her, and she let herself rest against his warmth. Her heart pounded and she seized on their link, deepened it.

"Hey, it's okay," he said quietly. He pressed his lips to her cheek. "I'm okay."

"What happened?" Rachel asked. Jean already felt her daughter's presence slipping from her mind, reached out an arm to pull her into the hug she shared with Scott. Rachel tensed, but then put an arm around each of them.

"I found a new layer of power. And I didn't take half the planet with me." Scott sounded amazed, relieved, and amused all at once. "I'll tell you all about it when I get back from Arizona. Alex is probably freaking."

Jean barely had time to register the kiss he gave her, and the squeeze he gave both her and Rachel, and then he stepped away from them, glanced at the room, and said, "Oh, not the disco ball again." Then he was gone.

Jean stared at the space where he'd been until Rachel's soft, "Mom?" made her turn to their daughter.

"You okay?" Rachel asked, and Jean felt the quiet presence of her daughter's mind with her.

"He's alive, so yes," Jean said. "But that was very, very weird."

"We're X-Men," Rachel said. "We do weird."

That surprised a laugh from her, and Jean hugged her daughter. "Yes, we do, don't we? But not, apparently, the disco ball."

- X -

The abrupt shift from air-conditioned ballroom to Arizona heat didn't ease the queasiness Scott felt from the transition. He grimaced and swallowed, and only then did he realize that Alex wasn't where he'd been a few minutes ago. Instead, his brother was rummaging in the truck.

"Alex," he said. Then, louder when his brother didn't turn, "Alex."

Alex jumped and cursed when he banged his head on the doorframe. When he turned, Scott could see panic and relief in his eyes. "What the hell, Scotty? What happened?"

"I found those upper levels -- the ones you talked about, when a star collapses." Scott leaned against the bed of the truck, pulled a bottle of water from the cooler they'd brought.

"And that made you vanish?" Alex still hadn't quite recovered, Scott saw.

"I teleported." Scott still had difficulty believing what he'd done, but Jean's kiss was still warm on his mouth, and the sense of her panic still lingered in his mind, so he knew he'd seen and held her. "To Westchester. Jean and Rachel are decorating for the prom."

"How'd you do that?"

"Um." Scott frowned. "Instinct?"

"Instinct." Alex snorted. "Yeah, that'll help when you have to do it for real. What did you see and feel when you did it? How did you orient on Jean and then on me?"

"Um --"

"Right," Alex said. "Do it again. And again. And again until you can explain how you're wormholing."

"Wormholing?" Scott asked.

"The rest of your powers are physics-based, we might as well use a physics term for this, too. Try wormholing to Grandma's."

"Grandma's?"

"Yeah. And then we'll try other places. Like Antarctica."

"Antarctica? I'll freeze -- it's winter down there, remember?"

"So make it a short trip. And if Grandma's been baking, bring me back a piece of pie."


	16. Chapter 16

I still don't own them, etc.

And just as a tease for upcoming stuff… I just spent a week with alteva101 (and if you haven't checked out her story "Shadow Man" elsewhere on this site, you should) and we got half of another fic written. We'll be posting it when it's done, and we hope you'll enjoy it even though it's not X-Men fandom.

X X X X X

"Tiffany's?" Jean hung back when Scott paused at the door to the store on Fifth Avenue. "Are you sure, Scott? It's expensive."

"It's not every day we get engaged, formally," Scott said now. "Besides, I've been saving most of my stipend and salary for years. What better to splurge on?" He opened the door, gestured for her to step inside.

"I feel like I should be wearing a little black dress," Jean muttered.

She tried to remind herself that it was only a store. She'd been in dozens, even hundreds of stores in her life -- this was just another one, right?

She managed to convince herself of that for all of thirty seconds. Then she saw the display case housing the Tiffany Diamond and stopped to stare. The cushion-shaped yellow diamond sat nestled in a necklace made of smaller white diamonds.

"The original stone weighed nearly three hundred carats." Jean jumped a little at the voice behind her, then glanced over her shoulder at the suited salesman who stood there. "Cut and polished, the gem is just under one hundred and thirty carats."

"It's beautiful," Jean said, then laughed. "Though I'm certainly not the first to notice."

Resolutely, she turned away from the sparkling display to face the salesman. He looked to be only a few years younger than she, far too young, she would've thought, to work in a place with the weight of history behind it.

"We're looking for an engagement ring," Scott said.

"Of course, sir. I'm Aaron, and I'll be happy to show you our bridal collection over here." He led them to the far side of the store, where an array of diamonds glittered in satin-lined display cases. "We have the traditional Tiffany Setting in all sizes."

Jean barely glanced at the diamond solitaires. "I wear surgical gloves too often for something like that."

"Then pick whatever you want," Scott told her. He glanced at Aaron. "And don't let her ask the price."

"Scott --" Jean protested.

"Jean." She knew that tone, and returned to her exploration of the display cases with a small sigh, barely paying attention as Scott quizzed Aaron about how the Tiffany Diamond was cut and other technical aspects of jewelry-making.

She studied the other diamonds on display, but they'd always struck her as cold and impersonal, almost a generic token of love. And the one thing that she knew was that her relationship with Scott was not generic, much less cold and impersonal. A diamond was absolutely wrong for her engagement ring.

To her left, rings with colored stones shone more warmly than the diamonds. Her eye danced past emeralds, sapphires, rubies --

Her breath caught when she saw the ring. A ruby sat in a band of twined white and yellow gold, gleaming richly red.

"That one."

"What?" Jean asked.

"That one." Scott moved to stand beside her. "I felt how much you like it."

Aaron stared at them. "You ... felt it?"

Scott studied the ring. "That's perfect."

Jean felt all the associations he made in his mind -- red for her hair, for his optic blasts and the glasses that had contained them, for the manifestation of her powers.

"You missed one," she said quietly. "Red for love and passion."

"That was a given." Scott glanced at Aaron. "Let's see if it fits."

Aaron had composed his expression and unlocked the case. He offered the ring box to Scott. "I believe it's traditional for you to do the honors."

Scott grinned and took the ring from the box. "I suppose we can be traditional for once."

His gaze locked with Jean's, and she felt the same intensity of focus in his mind that was in his eyes as he held out his hand. Her pulse leaped, and she placed her left hand in his. He kissed her ring finger before slipping the twined band over the tip of her finger, past the nail she kept short, and into place.

There was no need for him to ask the question; he already had, before they'd gone to fight Magneto the last time. Instead he let her feel how much he loved her and how much he looked forward to joining their lives in marriage. Tears gathered in her eyes, an overflowing of love and joy, and she squeezed his hand with her ringed hand tightly.

"We'll take it," Scott said.

"Does it fit?" Aaron sounded surprised.

"It does," Jean told him. She'd used her telekinesis to tighten the twined band just enough that it rested snug against her finger.

"Excellent. How will you be paying for it?" Aaron added to Scott.

Reluctantly, Scott let go of her hand to pull a credit card from his wallet and hand it to Aaron. When the salesman had moved away to process the sale, he said, "I think you should take the job."

"What job?" Then she remembered. "Oh. Why?"

"When I met with Hank the other day," Scott began, "I realized that he's become a diplomat first. The world needs diplomats, but right now, we can't afford to have someone in his position who's a diplomat first."

Jean tried to hold on to the happiness she'd felt a moment ago, cloak it around herself against the darkness that tinged Scott's thoughts now. "Why are you telling me that now?"

"Because I want you to go into the events this weekend thinking like Madame Secretary." Then Scott grinned. "And I have to say, calling you Madame Secretary is going to be a kick."

He pushed an image of the times he might call her that through their bond, and Jean felt her jaw unhinge. "Scott!" she smacked his shoulder and he laughed before turning to sign the credit card slip Aaron brought.

Scott handed the slip and pen back to Aaron. "Seriously, Jean. I don't want to pressure you too much, but this may be the most critical juncture for that position, and we -- all of us -- need someone in it who's going to be clear-headed."

Jean let out a slow breath. Her words from the conference came back to her. _I am a daughter, a sister, a friend, a student and a teacher. I'm a doctor, a geneticist, and an activist._ She repeated them to Scott, adding, "If I add 'cabinet secretary' to that list -- not to mention 'mother' -- something has to give."

"But not 'wife,'" he teased and took the blue bag from Aaron. She might be wearing the ring, Jean thought, but the bag still held the case and paperwork.

"Wife's not that much different from what we are now," Jean said. "Although 'daughter-in-law' -- stop distracting me."

"Sorry. Thanks for your help, Aaron," Scott added.

"A pleasure, sir. Do come again."

Scott held the door for her, and when they stepped out into the warm afternoon, said, "I know it'll be challenging, but we can do it."

"I suppose." Jean slipped her ringed hand into his. "I just thought I'd be a mostly-full-time mother when we did have children. The world had other plans."

"I'm just glad those plans changed enough that I'll be here to help you with he--urf." Scott grunted when someone bumped into him, hard.

"Hey," Jean called after the man running away from them, but he didn't stop.

"Stop him, hon," Scott said. "He grabbed the bag."

"It's empty," Jean reminded him, but focused on one of the man's feet.

"It's the principle of the thing," Scott said, and Jean understood. Ahead of them, the man fell face-first onto the pavement when she telekinetically grabbed his foot.

Jean held the would-be bag-snatcher's foot still, and shared a smile with Scott while they sauntered up to him. He tried to get to his feet, but she held his right foot and his expression slowly changed from confusion to fear. In typical New York fashion, other pedestrians dodged around him but no one stopped to help.

Scott knelt beside the man and took hold of the bag next to where the man still clutched it. "You might want to reconsider your hobby," he said. "And you can let go of the bag now." The man just stared at him, and he added, "She'll let your foot go when you let go of the bag."

The words finally sunk in, and a moment later, Scott stood and the man scrambled to his feet and ran as fast as he could away from them.

Scott checked the bag and took Jean's hand once more. "I suppose we can cross 'get mugged' off our lifetime goals list."

- X -

Lorna adjusted her gown surreptitiously as she followed the liveried servant up the stairs. She'd never understood why the Hellfire Club insisted that their servants wear livery that hadn't been fashionable for a century or more. She stifled a smile when she thought of what Alex might say if he were here.

Leaving Alex behind was becoming more difficult, especially since her return from her grandfather's funeral, but it was necessary. He wouldn't approve of the Club, nor its purpose. And he'd never forgive her if he learned what she planned to do to his brother.

But she couldn't think about him now, couldn't let thoughts of him distract her when she was about to face the leadership of the Club to demand a position in their inner circle. Their strength would take her to the next steps of her plan.

"Miss Lorna Dane," the servant announced when he opened the door to the richly paneled study.

A glance at the room made her stomach tense. She'd expected to face Shaw alone, or perhaps with Emma Frost at his side. Instead, the entire surviving inner circle had gathered. Sebastian Shaw, Emma Frost, Reeva Payge, Harry Leland, Jane Hampshire, Roberto da Costa, Trevor Fitzroy, and Friedrich von Roehm. There should be two others, Lorna knew -- but her grandfather tossed and turned in his fresh-dug grave, and Elizabeth Braddock had been incommunicado since Alcatraz.

"What is this whelp doing here?" Hampshire demanded, her English accent giving each word more weight than it deserved.

Lorna felt her chin lifting and straightened her shoulders. "I come to claim the place that is mine by right."

"What right do you think you have?" Hampshire lounged indolently in a chair, idly twirling a glass of golden wine. Lorna knew it was a ruse, that if Hampshire chose, she'd be out of the chair and with her hands around someone's throat in seconds.

"The right of power and birth," Lorna said. "My grandfather had a place among you, but no children with the power to keep it. His power, like his blood, is in me, and I will claim his place in the Hellfire Club with them."

"Be certain you wish to claim it," Shaw said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "Lensherr failed, after all."

"He came closer than any of you ever did," Lorna shot back, anger blazing through her veins. She felt her own power humming within her body, just beneath her skin, and she forced herself to take a slow, calming breath. It wouldn't do to lash out now, not with the icy blonde psychic by the fireplace watching her every thought.

"Only if you define making the X-Men heroes as close," Hampshire sniffed. "Not to mention arranging for his operative to kill the Registration Act. We're further from our goals than we've ever been."

"Making the X-Men heroes may not be as disastrous as you imply." Frost's voice surprised them all. "Some of them might be worthy additions to our cause. And, of course, we might be able to use that publicity."

"Whether that's so or not, Braddock's fate remains uncertain," Leland observed from the depths of his wingback chair. Lorna knew she wasn't alone in wondering whether he'd used his power to increase mass on himself -- it was the only logical explanation for his bulk. "Thanks to your grandfather as well, Ms. Dane. So I echo Ms. Hampshire's question. What right do you think you have?"

"I am not my grandfather," Lorna said, each word clear. "I respect him, but his approach was wrong, and it was the approach that ultimately caused his failure. I do not share his approach. And I bring an advantage he didn't have."

She saw the skepticism in their expressions -- all but Emma Frost doubted her. Frost, no doubt, had picked up her thoughts.

"What advantage do you think you have?" Shaw parodied Hampshire's earlier question.

"An in to the X-Men."

To her surprise, Fitzroy shrugged. "I'm professionally acquainted with Dr. Grey. She would not refuse my call."

"But they wouldn't invite you to spend a week with them, would they?" Lorna asked.

Fitzroy snorted. "Not unless they're bloody fools."

Lorna simply smiled, waiting. Fitzroy's expression changed to curiosity. "You're implying they would invite you? Why would they do that?"

"They wouldn't invite me directly, but they will Alex." She took in their puzzled expressions and clarified, "Alexander Summers. Brother of Scott Summers, also known as Cyclops, leader of the X-Men."

That got their attention. She'd known it would. She just didn't know if it would be enough.

Neither did they, apparently, to judge by the low murmurs and glances sent her way. She couldn't make out enough words to have a sense how the discussion was going, so she schooled her expression to iron-willed neutrality and simply waited.

"Oh, let her try." It was, perhaps unsurprisingly, Emma Frost who spoke. "If she fails, we're in no worse a position than we are now."

A soft knock on the door interrupted them, and Shaw called, "Come."

The same liveried servant who'd escorted her to this meeting opened the door just enough to step half into the room and say, "You wished to be informed when Mr. Summers arrived, sir. He's just come in."

With a nod, Shaw dismissed the man and focused on Lorna once again. "You have your chance at Summers. But a backup plan is never a bad idea. Right, Ms. Frost?"

"As you say, Shaw." Frost gave Lorna a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "I must say, I rather hope you fail. I've had far worse assignments than this one."

Lorna didn't care for the predatory gleam in Frost's eyes, but she only turned to leave the room. She had to force herself to ignore the tiny twinge of regret she felt at using Alex to get to his brother. This wasn't Alex's fight, he wasn't even a mutant, but it was her only chance to get close to Scott, where she could complete her work.

- X -

The cab turned off of Park Avenue and pulled to a stop in front of a Neo-Georgian building with red brickwork exterior. Scott paid the driver then stepped out of the cab to open Jean's door himself, offering his hand to her with a flourish.

She smiled and him and emerged from the cab in a slither of amethyst silk.

_I've always liked the way you look in that dress,_ Scott sent. _It clings to your curves._

_I won't fit in it much longer._ With that came images of an exaggeratedly pregnant body, and Scott had to laugh out loud.

"That would be triplets, at least," he told her. Then he couldn't help the momentary panic that washed over him. "It's not, is it? I mean, you haven't sensed --"

"I haven't sensed anything, Scott," she told him as they crossed the sidewalk to the main entry. "If it weren't for Rachel, I wouldn't even know I'm pregnant yet."

Scott let out a breath, forcing his mind toward calming exercises. She was weeks pregnant, at most, there was no way she could sense any brainwaves yet, but even if she could, she was pregnant with Rachel, not triplets.

"Somehow, I don't think you'll be in the delivery room with me," Jean said quietly as the doorman took their names and ushered them inside.

A different fear swept through him. Jean had meant it as a joke, but her comment reminded him that they still didn't know whether they had completely changed the future that produced Rachel. The universe might still be trying to kill him -- and it might yet succeed.

_I won't let it,_ he vowed silently, deep within the privacy of his own thoughts. _I'll be in that delivery room to welcome our daughter to a better world._

_At least this time I feel appropriately dressed._

Scott smiled at Jean's wry observation, but had to agree. Whereas Tiffany's had been filled with rich jewelry, this club was filled with rich furniture and portraits. Male servers wearing, of all things, nineteenth century livery circulated with trays of champagne and red and white wine, and female servers wearing variations on the classic French maid costume carried trays of canapés.

_Hank here yet?_ Scott asked.

_Not yet,_ Jean answered.

_So we mingle._ Scott accepted two glasses of champagne from a blue-eyed brunette and offered one to Jean.

She took it. _Not that I get to drink much of it._

"Should I ask for something non-alcoholic?" Scott asked quietly.

"No sense drawing attention to the fact," Jean said. "I can nurse this glass all night, and it shouldn't affect the baby."

"If you're sure."

"You are such a worrier, my warrior," Jean murmured.

"Dr. Grey?"

Scott saw surprise flicker across Jean's expression before she turned to the newcomer with a polite smile. "Dr. Fitzroy. I wasn't expecting to see you here."

"Nor I you." Fitzroy took her free hand -- the non-ringed one, Scott noted idly -- and brought it to his lips. "Though I am delighted to see you. You look stunning, far more fetching than you did the last time I saw you."

"I'd like you to meet my fiancé." Jean withdrew her hand. "Scott, this is Dr. Trevor Fitzroy. Dr. Fitzroy, Scott Summers."

_Trevor Fitzroy?_ Scott pounced on the name mentally even as he shook the other man's hand. _The one who sent Rachel to us?_

_I think so._

"You won't mind if I borrow the charming doctor," Fitzroy said. "There are some people who would love to meet her. Fellow doctors, you know, shop talk."

_Up to you,_ Scott sent.

"Always on call," Jean smiled.

Fitzroy chuckled. "I trust this will be more pleasant than most on-call situations."

"I'm sure it will." With a glance that included a mental caress, Jean walked away with Fitzroy.

Scott sipped his champagne and surveyed the room. He hadn't seen Shaw yet, but they'd barely been here five minutes. A circuit of the room would give him the chance to find Shaw, as well as alternatives in case a hasty exit became necessary.

_Paranoid._ He felt Jean's amusement with her.

_Cautious._

"Scott? It is Scott, right? Scott Summers?" He turned to face a pair of darkly brilliant green eyes -- or so he deduced from the shade of brown he looked at through his ruby quartz glasses -- looking up at him earnestly.

"Have we met, Miss --?"

"No, we haven't met yet, but I would've known you anywhere, even without the shades." He must've let his confusion show, because she laughed. "Oh, silly me. I'm Lorna. Lorna Dane."

He recognized the name immediately and offered his hand. "Alex's girlfriend. I'm glad to finally have a face to go with the name."

"Same here." She had a soft hand but a firm grip. "I'd thought I'd have to wait until your parents' July Fourth barbecue. But what on earth are you doing here? Alex never told me the family had connections."

"I'm here on business, actually," Scott said. He glanced around the room again. "But I don't see either of the men I'm meeting yet. What about you? How does a grad student in geology rate an invite here?"

A shadow passed across her face. "My grandfather was a member. He died recently, and I've inherited the membership."

"Please accept my condolences," Scott said. "Alex mentioned it, but it slipped my mind."

"I wouldn't expect you to remember a detail like that. Would you like a tour while you're waiting? I was here once before, and Grandfather showed me around."

"I'd enjoy that, thanks."

- X -

The voices he heard through the door to Kitty and Rachel's room confirmed that both of them were there -- talking about _Star Wars_? Well, it had to be something, and better that than something to do with bodily functions. Logan raised his hand to knock, but stopped it before it connected with the wooden door. Nobody else needed to know about this. Not yet.

He rested his hand flat on the door and focused the way Xavier and Jean had taught him, pushed his thought forward. _Rachel._

For long moments, there was no response. He took a breath and let it out slowly, refocusing his mind as he would before a meditation, preparing to try again. Then he felt her thoughts brushing his mind.

_Logan._

_You didn't get the chance to answer my question before._

_Now?_

He gave her a picture of Scott's motorcycle. _Somewhere we won't be overheard._

_I'll see you there._

Logan let his hand fall from the door. Do or die. Now or never. Fish or cut bait. All the sayings in the world wouldn't make him any easier about this.

- X -

Scott frowned. Accompanied by Lorna's commentary on the building, some of the people in the oil portraits that hung on the wall, and the history of the Hellfire Club, he'd made a circuit of the entire ground floor, and he still hadn't seen Shaw. Nor Hank.

"Am I boring you?" Lorna asked as they paused by the bar.

"Never." Scott managed to smile at her. "I just haven't seen the man I'm supposed to meet with yet. It's not like him to be late for an appointment."

"Who are they? I can help you look."

"Hank's pretty hard to miss," Scott said, and added, "Hank McCoy."

Lorna's eyes widened. "The Secretary of Mutant Affairs? He's coming tonight?"

"Surprised?"

"A little, maybe, but the Club has had all sorts of distinguished guests. Who else?"

"Sebastian Shaw. Hank and I are meeting with him tomorrow, and he suggested we come tonight for the final arrangements."

"Mr. Shaw's here, I saw him earlier. He's chairman of the club, you know."

"No, I didn't know." Scott forced a grin. "That explains why he invited us, doesn't it?" But something told him this was no mere coincidence, and his battle instincts went on high alert.

"I suppose it does," Lorna said. "If you want to wait here, I'll see if I can find him for you. There are parts of the club that are restricted to members only."

"Thanks, Lorna."

"Anything for Alex's big brother." She smiled and moved gracefully through the crowd. Scott frowned after her.

_What, you don't think she's attractive?_ Came Jean's amused question.

_Pretty,_ Scott told her, _but there's something about her that's almost _too_ nice. Too polite._

He felt Jean's acknowledgment, but then she was distracted by a question that contained more medical terminology than not, and Scott knew she would be lost in technical discussions again. With this crowd, there'd have to be several doctors.

He paused with his glass of champagne partway to his lips. And of course Shaw would've needed some for his project. Fitzroy, perhaps?

"What is so fascinating?" The voice was low and smooth, the kind of voice Scott would expect to give great phone sex.

He turned to see a sculpted blonde in a white gown that somehow managed not to look like a wedding dress standing beside him, looking where he'd been staring sightlessly a moment before.

"I don't see a flaw in the wallpaper, nor a run in the drapery." She turned to face him, and he recognized the shade of purple he saw her eyes as to mean that they were an icy blue. "So what fascinates you?"

"You do. Now." Scott congratulated himself on not stumbling over the words.

_Nice comeback,_ Jean observed.

_No comments from the peanut gallery._ He extended his hand. "Scott Summers."

"Emma Frost." Her smile was coolly elegant, her grip firm. "I don't believe I've seen you here before. Are you a new member?"

"I'm a guest of Sebastian Shaw tonight."

"Really?" She gave him an appraising glance. "Shaw's taste in guests is improving."

"You know him?"

"Very well, actually. We're both on the club's … board of directors."

_So it would be bad if I told her I'm allergic to silicone, right?_

Jean laughed in his head. _Very bad._

Emma linked her arm through his. "I'd be happy to escort you upstairs to the private rooms."

"Ms. Frost --" Scott cleared his throat and started again, "I'm not certain what you're implying."

She laughed, a low, throaty sound. "I only meant that Shaw is in the private study, and I can escort you there. Of course, if you're suggesting something else, I'm sure we can come to some understanding."

_It would probably be worse if I told her she's more snooty than sexy, wouldn't it?_

_You wouldn't get out of here alive,_ Jean assured him. _Just tell her you'd have to discuss that with your fiancée. It's a way of saying no without actually saying no._

"That sounds… enticing," Scott said. "But I have to discuss such things with my fiancée."

"Ooh." If anything, Emma's expression turned more anticipatory. "It's not often someone suggests a _ménage a trois._"

Scott couldn't help his mental whimper. _It's okay if I think that's kind of hot, isn't it?_

_You think it's kind of hot in the same way World War Two was a border skirmish,_ Jean sent back, amused. _But that's okay. Just remember, if you invite her, I invite Logan._

_Okay, suddenly not so hot._ He almost looked around to see whether Bobby had somehow snuck into the club, but managed to focus on Emma.

"But until we can have that discussion," she was saying, "I'd be happy to show you upstairs."

"That's very kind of you." He felt Jean's amusement lingering through their bond. The smile Emma Frost gave him as they started up the stairs made him think he'd dodged one bullet but faced a firing squad.


	17. Chapter 17

When Rachel finally made it to the garage, Logan already sat on Scott's motorcycle. Silently, he extended a helmet to her. She raised an amused eyebrow at his own lack of helmet, but slipped hers on and climbed onto the bike behind him. Her arms went around his waist from habit as he started the engine, and she felt his muscles tighten under her hands.

He didn't gun the engine until they'd turned onto Greymalkin Lane, but then he opened her up and Rachel wished she weren't wearing a helmet so she could feel the wind through her hair.

She couldn't remember how many times he'd taken her for rides like this, alone with nothing but the road and the moonlight for company. Tonight, though -- she'd remember tonight. Tonight was different.

Instead of "Uncle Logan" taking his best friend's daughter for a ride to escape the hard, harsh realities of their lives as mutant fugitives, tonight was about a man taking a woman for a pleasure drive, and she would remember every detail of it, whatever happened.

She didn't know the area well enough to track where they were going in the dark, though she knew he wasn't headed to town. They would've made a turn not long after turning onto Greymalkin Lane if they were, but Logan kept the bike headed mostly south instead. She gave up trying to decide where they were going, instead just settled in for the ride.

Finally, he pulled off the road and into a meadow, killing the engine almost before the bike had come to a full stop. Rachel stepped off the bike with the ease of long practice, pulling her helmet off and running a hand through her hair. It was one of the few joys of short hair, that finger-fluffing it could undo helmet hair quickly.

Logan dismounted and opened the storage compartment under the seat and withdrew a dark shape she couldn't recognize. "There's a path to the pond," he said.

"There's a pond?"

"The locals probably call it a lake," he acknowledged. "But it's small, so I think pond."

She followed him across the meadow to the path, then down to the pond, which she saw as a patch of shiny black against the darkness of the meadow. He shook the thing he'd removed from the storage compartment and it resolved itself into a blanket that he spread on the ground.

Rachel took the unspoken invitation and sat on the blanket. Through the fleece, she could feel the coolness of the grass beneath. She wasn't surprised when he didn't follow suit, instead choosing to pace a few steps closer to the pond and stand looking across it.

For long moments, they seemed frozen in time, quiet, just being with each other. Then he knelt to pick up a stone and skip it across the pond. She counted four skips before it sank.

"You deserve better'n me," Logan said when the last ripples had stilled.

"Better than what?" Rachel asked. "Better than someone who's brave, loyal, and kind?"

She heard his snort. "Kind? Me?"

"Yes, you. Not to your enemies, and you don't like showing that side to your friends, but you are."

He ignored that, turned back to look at her. She returned the look, not flinching, though she could barely make out his features in the diffused moonlight. "Women flirt with guys like me. They don't go home with 'em."

"Traditional women, maybe." She couldn't help thinking of her mother, and in a flash of insight, she knew why Logan had never been a father to her. He might've wanted to, she'd never know that, but her mother wouldn't have accepted him in the role. She set that thought aside -- she was different from her mother, and she needed to make him see that. She rose to her feet, took the few steps needed to bring her directly in front of him so she could look into his eyes and say, "I'm not traditional."

"You should stand downwind." His voice was tight.

"Would you give up an advantage like that?"

"This isn't a fight."

"Isn't it?"

He growled low in his throat, and his hands clenched into fists. For long moments, they stood still, then Rachel sighed and stepped away and behind him. Downwind of him.

"Surrendering the field?" He sounded surprised -- and disappointed.

"Allowing your opponent to retreat with honor isn't surrender." She'd sensed the control, the sheer force of will that kept him rigidly still, and she knew she could pressure him enough to break that control. But that wasn't what she wanted. She wanted him to choose her, not make that choice for him.

And if he didn't choose her, she'd find a way to live with that, too. She'd survived a world that wanted her dead just because she breathed. She'd survived never knowing her father. She'd survived a trip through time that cost her mother and others their lives. She could survive losing a love she'd never really had, too.

She turned away from him, toward the pond, trying to summon a will similar to his. She could grieve this and survive it, but she didn't want to start the process now.

His warm hand rested on her shoulder, and she felt his thumb stroking the back of her neck, just below her hair. She stiffened under his touch, but couldn't stop the shiver that ran down her spine.

"You sure you know what you're getting?"

"Nobody's ever sure what they're getting," Rachel forced the words past a suddenly dry tongue. "I am sure I want the chance to find out."

- X -

_I want the chance to find out._

Didn't he want the same thing? The tightening in his groin gave him one answer, and his heart gave him the more important one.

He slid his hand from her shoulder to the back of her neck, then he ran his fingers into her close-cropped hair, over her skull. She inclined her head in response to that gentle pressure, and he bent forward to kiss the sensitive spot just above her collar. She drew in a shaky breath, dropped her head further forward to encourage him.

"Rae." He breathed her name against her tautened skin, and she shivered again. His hand continued its slow journey to the side of her head, and he encouraged her to straighten and turn her head to face him. She did, and he caught her mouth with his.

This time, he allowed himself to savor her taste and tease her tongue with his. She moaned and turned to face him fully, stepping close enough that their clothes brushed. She caught his lower lip in her teeth, hard enough that he felt it but not hard enough to break the skin. He growled in response, and then she grabbed at his jacket, pulling him even closer.

He wrapped one arm around her shoulders, the other around her hips, and picked her up, turned and lowered them both to the blanket, kissing and nibbling at her mouth the whole time.

Finally, he raised his head to look into her eyes. They sparkled, bright blue in the moonlight, and her breath came in rapid, short gasps.

"What happened?" she asked softly, almost hesitantly, as if she didn't want to know the answer.

"I ran out of buts." He rested his weight on one elbow, drifted his other hand down her arm and then up her side, coming to rest at her breast.

She arched her breast into his hand. "Don't go looking for more, okay?"

"I won't." And he knew he wouldn't, whatever happened.

"Even if I do this?" Her blouse unbuttoned itself, and her shorts unzipped.

He shifted position so he could spread her shorts open, revealing the hint of lacy underwear beneath, and bent down to kiss her hip just above the lace. Her breath hissed between her teeth and he felt her muscles twitching beneath his lips. Then he hooked his thumbs beneath shorts and lace, yanked them both down her legs and off. He was already sitting up, so he shrugged out of his jacket and pulled shirt and T-shirt over his head.

Before he'd stretched out beside her again, his jeans had come undone. Warm night air did little to ease his throbbing erection, but at least he wouldn't have zipper indentations in it.

"Nice talent."

"I'm sure we can come up with some creative uses for it." She slipped her hands around his waist, down his back and under his jeans. "But there's something to be said for the old-fashioned way, too."

Her hands caressed his legs as she shoved his jeans down over his erection to his knees, and he had to agree with her assessment. Then her hand closed around him, and he rumbled low in his chest, a rumble that turned to a chuckle when she tugged at him. He followed the motion, rolled on top of her and rested the weight of his body on her.

"I've waited so long for this. For you." Her words were a murmur against the night, and in response, he pressed inside her, making her hiss a "Yes," as she clutched at his shoulders and clenched around him.

Then her thoughts touched his, and he felt what she was feeling, adjusted his position so it was better for her, and heard her answering cries. No, not heard. He had just enough awareness to realize that she hadn't cried aloud, but mentally. He growled into her mind and she growled back, her body and mind tensing with pleasure, and he couldn't help but respond to that, and then he realized they were in a telepathic feedback loop, spiraling higher, tighter, jointly straining toward release.

Climax, when it came, exploded in mini-seizures that wracked his body, and he was only dimly aware of Rachel shuddering beneath him. As intense as the physical sensations were, the telepathic sensations were doubly so, and the starburst behind his eyes took a long time to fade.

"Damn, Rae." It took more focus than it should have to roll off of her and pull her close against his chest.

"Yeah." She draped an arm across his chest, traced his nipple with her fingertips.

"Just tell me your mom didn't show you how to do that."

Rachel smacked his chest lightly. "What, you think I couldn't figure it out on my own?"

"I'm glad you did." He refused to wonder whether she'd done that with other lovers, and if she hadn't, why she hadn't. He wasn't ready for the answers and their implications yet. Right now, he was content to hold her and breathe in the scents of pond, meadow, night, and sex.

- X -

Lorna felt her pulse jump when the door to the study opened and Emma Frost stood aside to allow Scott Summers to enter the room before she did. Talking with him earlier had been one of the most difficult things Lorna had ever done. She'd had to maintain a pleasant façade and chatter when all she wanted to do was rip every iron grate from the ducts and windows and impale him with them.

And now he stood before her, apparently calm as he assessed his situation. She disliked not being able to read his eyes behind those ruby glasses, but there was no question when his gaze focused on her. "Lorna."

Then he glanced around the rest of the room. "Shaw."

"Welcome to the Hellfire Club, Mr. Summers," Shaw said from where he sat in a leather chair near the window. "Or should I say, Cyclops?"

Frost closed the door behind him, and von Roehm and da Costa moved from their spots flanking the fireplace to guard the door. Scott noticed it, Lorna was certain, but he kept his face aimed at Shaw when he said, "I'm only Cyclops when I'm in combat."

"Business negotiations are a form of combat," Shaw told him. "But I trust we can be gentlemen for these negotiations."

"I thought I was here for a demonstration." Scott stepped further into the room, apparently unintimidated by the number of people he faced. Then again, Lorna thought, he didn't know they were all mutants, like he was. Or did he? She'd seen what his optic blasts could do, and he might think he was easily the match of the gathered board members.

"Of course you are, darling," Frost said, and trailed a hand along Scott's shoulder. "But we'd like to ensure the demonstration goes as smoothly as possible."

Lorna saw the slight frown crease Scott's forehead. "Are you expecting difficulties?"

"You're already presenting difficulties," Leland rumbled. He sat on a chaise in front of the fire. Lorna wouldn't have thought a man of his bulk would get cold easily, but he always sought a seat near the fire.

"But you won't for long," Shaw said. "Frost, Leland, if you please."

Lorna saw the surprise in Scott's expression when he tried to lift his hand but found it too heavy to move. "What the --?"

"Hush, darling." Frost touched her fingertips to his temple. "Let Auntie Em soothe all those troubled thoughts." A handful of heartbeats later, Frost dropped her hand with a curse.

"What's wrong?" Shaw demanded.

Frost glared at Scott. "His mind's shielded -- deeply shielded. If I try much of anything --" she broke off and shook her head.

Shaw matched Frost's expression. "Then we do this the hard way. Where's Grey?"

"Fitzroy will bring her here momentarily," Frost answered.

"Excellent."

Shaw's tone conveyed immense satisfaction, but Lorna couldn't help frowning. The man before them had staged a coup that killed her grandfather, one of the most powerful mutants ever to have lived. If Shaw had miscalculated, then her vengeance would be made far more difficult. Scott wouldn't trust her again, and her advantage would be lost for nothing.

_But you'd still have Alex._

- X -

Jean smiled politely, pretending to listen to Harry and Margaret Castle, the husband and wife team of genetic researchers Trevor Fitzroy had introduced her to a few minutes before. She didn't recognize their names, but their words had proven within minutes that they were at the fringes of genetic research and manipulation.

She wasn't one to dismiss someone just because their theories were unorthodox, but the Castles had far too many jumps in logic and gaps in their science for her to take them entirely seriously. Trevor Fitzroy, on the other hand, gave every appearance of agreeing with them and encouraging their work.

William Grandey's words came back to her. _Just a gut reaction that doesn't like Fitzroy and never has._

Her own gut hadn't been thrilled when Fitzroy called her out as a mutant at the International Conference on Genetics and Evolutionary Methods. She'd rationalized it as the first of many questions she'd be expected to answer, especially once the X-Men became more public. Then when Rachel had told them about Fitzroy's power, Jean had thought he might be confirming her as an X-Man in preparation for making some other contact with them -- contact that never came.

There was only one way to find out, as distasteful as she might find it. She'd have to skim his mind -- nothing deep, just a surface reading to see what there might be for her to see. She lowered her shields, prepared to brush the top of Fitzroy's thoughts, and --

_Need your help, hon._

Scott's mental call for help, though calm, sent alarm singing through Jean. Even as she focused on Scott to track him, she turned to Fitzroy and tried to smile politely. "Will you excuse me, please? I'm afraid I need to find a powder room."

Fitzroy looked startled, but recovered quickly. "Of course."

Jean barely waited for his response before she was threading her way through the crowd toward the grand staircase leading to the second floor. She couldn't run up them, not without drawing undue attention, but she hurried as fast as she could, keeping her hand on the banister as she went. Normally, she wouldn't bother holding on, but normally she wasn't pregnant.

_What's wrong?_

_One of them's made my arms too heavy to move._

"Dr. Grey." Fitzroy's voice caught her as she reached the top step and turned down the corridor where she sensed Scott's presence. "There are facilities downstairs."

"I'm sure there are," Jean said, and turned to freeze him in his tracks. She wasn't as powerful a telepath as the professor, but she could --

The world stopped.

Jean tried to finish her movement, but couldn't. She couldn't do anything. It was an effort to do more than notice the world around her. Even thinking made her head hurt. But she had to think, to figure out what happened.

_Fitzroy,_ Scott said. _His power affects time locally, remember?_

Jean clutched at Scott's thoughts -- which she heard, and which she could use to feel time passing. A moment more, and she'd have enough mental leverage to put Fitzroy out.

Pain lanced through her stomach, and she forced her mind to focus past the pain and past Scott's mental cry. She saw a woman standing in front of her, ready to strike again.

Anger shot through her. _You will _not _hurt my child, _bitch.

She aimed that protective anger at the other woman's overly-satisfied smile.

Her time-perception must still be off, she thought, because no time seemed to pass before the woman was gone, fallen in front of her, Jean had to assume. Now she still had to deal with Fitzroy and help Scott.

Fitzroy's mind still read like white noise, so a telepathic attack was out of the question. She'd have to do things the old-fashioned way.

With her telekinesis, she picked him up and threw him into the wall. He slammed into it, then fell to the floor.

Normal perception returned, and she realized that Fitzroy was only dazed, not unconscious. A swift kick to his head remedied that, and she focused on Scott, ignoring the pain in her stomach. _Let me look through your eyes._

_Are you okay?_ Even as he asked, she felt him lowering his shields.

Instead of answering him, she looked through his eyes, seeing what he saw, as he saw it, through a ruby quartz filter. He was looking at a man seated in a chair, and she had the sense of other people around him.

_Ready,_ she sent, even as she focused on the red glasses whose edges she could barely see. Her telekinesis activated, she grabbed the glasses and pulled them down his nose.

_Thanks._ His power came on, and she heard screams and shouts with her ears as well as her mind, but she let those fade while she fell to her knees, grateful for the thick carpeting, finally able to give in to the pain that still echoed in her stomach.

At least, she thought, she wasn't bleeding. If she could only look inside her body to where the fetus that would grow to become Rachel rested, she'd know whether she was miscarrying or not.

She didn't have that luxury right now, not when Scott might still need her. She took a moment to settle, to center her mind the way the professor had taught her, then climbed to her feet and continued toward the room where she felt Scott's presence.

He met her coming out the door, caught her in his arms. "Are you okay? The baby?" His mind was a jumble of concern and fear and love. Instinctively, his hand went to her stomach, rested there.

"I'll be fine," she told him. And she would be. She wasn't certain about their baby. "What about --?"

He shook his head, cutting her off. "They got away."

He didn't have to say more. She knew they'd gotten away because he'd let them. He'd let them get away so he could focus on her and their unborn child.

"Here, rest a minute while I secure these two." Scott helped her sit on the floor once again. She opened her psychic sense and scanned the crowd below.

_They didn't hear anything,_ she told him. _We have a few minutes._

She felt his acknowledgment, and watched him move quickly along the corridor. He knelt beside the woman. "Who's this?"

"I don't know her name. She's the one who hit me."

"You hit back pretty hard." Scott's tone held a neutrality that sent her alert.

"What?"

"She's dead."

Dead? Jean stared at him, feeling a new, hollow pain in her stomach. The woman was dead?

Scott rose and moved to Fitzroy's prone form and pressed two fingers to his throat. "This one's still alive. We can question him."

Scott rose. "We'll have to move him without being seen."

"The window in that room," Jean said in automatic response to his Cyclops tone. "I can float him out the window and then get him into a taxi, make sure the driver thinks he's just a drunk."

"Is it safe?" She heard all the unspoken meanings of his question.

"I don't think using my power will hurt her."

"Then let's go."


	18. Chapter 18

Still not mine. I'm just borrowing them a while.

X X X X X

Logan hadn't wanted to return to the mansion. At the mansion, there'd be questions and accusations and raised eyebrows. In the meadow, there was only Rachel, and him, and the unquestioning night.

He'd delayed the return as long as he thought prudent, savoring the touches and whispers and kisses that he suspected were the first of many. But eventually, all good things ended, and she'd asked to drive home, and he'd agreed, not least because it gave him the chance to run his hands over her belly and breasts while she drove.

_Careful with that,_ she'd sent, teasing. _We'd survive a crash, but Dad would never forgive the damage to his bike._

So he'd settled for snuggling against her back, and wondering just what he'd gotten himself into.

Rachel maneuvered the bike into the garage easily enough, keeping the engine to a low idle as she did. She pulled it into its parking space and killed the engine, then took her helmet off and leaned back against his chest. _Now you can play._

He chuckled against her hair, and allowed himself to explore her body more freely, inhaling her spicy scent and pulling her more snugly against him. She purred and arched her body to meet his touch, encouraging.

She felt good in his arms, and she twisted so that she could kiss him again. He shoved his fingers into her sweat-dampened hair, held her head tightly while he returned the kiss, savoring the taste of her.

It was a sign of how much he enjoyed the kiss that the hum of the garage door opening was the first indication he had that anyone else was approaching. He broke away from Rachel with a curse and squinted at the bright-beamed headlights blazing into the garage.

"Mom and Dad," Rachel whispered, though Logan had recognized Scott's Mazda. He hadn't expected to tell them about his and Rachel's new status so soon, but that was the hand he'd been dealt. He stepped off the motorcycle even as the Mazda's engine died and the headlights went dark and braced himself for the wrath of an angry Cyclops.

Scott's expression when he climbed out of the Mazda was stony, though his eyes betrayed some surprise at what he'd seen. "Since you're here," he said in a neutral voice, "you can get Fitzroy out of the trunk and search and detain him."

"Trevor?" Rachel started forward. "What's he doing in the trunk?"

"Breathing," Scott said, "and he's lucky to be doing that." To Rachel's surprised expression, he added, "People now aren't how you knew them in the future. And we've just changed whatever factors made them the people they were then. Remember his power, keep him out if you have to. But I want him searched and detained for questioning."

Logan crossed to the trunk of the Mazda and popped it open. Jean had climbed out of the passenger seat of the Mazda with a subdued expression, and now Scott focused on her. "You get to the infirmary and have yourself checked out. Wake Terry if you have to."

"I'm the doctor," Jean reminded him. "I know what to do, and I will, as soon as I change out of this dress."

"How come you're all dressed up?" Rachel asked even as the unconscious form that Logan assumed was Trevor Fitzroy floated up out of the trunk of the Mazda. Logan winced in sympathy. That couldn't have been a comfortable trip. Maybe it was good that Fitzroy was unconscious.

"Didn't take the time to dress after things went to hell at the Hellfire Club," Scott answered. He turned back to Jean. "Change, then get to the infirmary."

Jean glared at Scott and Logan had to conceal a grin when the younger man winced. If telepaths could share pain as well as pleasure, he'd bet Scott just got a migraine.

Jean gathered the skirt of her gown and turned toward the door to the mansion. Scott hauled a suitcase out of the back seat of the Mazda.

"Where do you want us to keep him?" Logan asked.

"The Danger Room." Scott straightened and closed the car door. "I'll be there in a few minutes."

- X -

Scott opened the door to their room. Jean had changed quickly, to judge by the swath of purple silk half-covering their bed. Maybe she'd remembered to put shoes on, he thought. He'd bet good money she hadn't bothered with a bra, though.

He swung the suitcase onto a section of bed not covered in silk and retrieved the padded hanger that normally held the dress from the closet. Carefully, he straightened the folds of the gown and hung it in the closet, trying not to think that it might've become Jean's -- and unborn Rachel's -- death shroud.

His own formal wear was next to be returned to the closet. He'd screwed up, badly. Several times. He could only be thankful things hadn't turned out worse than they had -- even if Jean miscarried, it could've been much, much worse.

_Some strategist I am_. He hadn't expected trouble, hadn't planned for backup -- and where was Hank? That thought stopped him with his jeans half pulled up, and he dove for his cell phone.

Moments later, Hank's groggy voice in his ear made him heave a sigh of relief. "McCoy."

"It's Scott." Normally he wouldn't bother identifying himself, but it sounded like Hank had just woken up. "Where are you?"

"My hotel room in -- oh, my. I must've dozed off. I'll be at the club in half an hour."

"No, don't. In fact, you can go on back to DC in the morning. They tried to mind-rape me."

"What?" All traces of sleep vanished from Hank's voice, and Scott told him what had happened.

"Obviously we can't proceed with the Sentinel project," Hank said when he'd finished. "I'll spread the word."

"No, don't," Scott said. "We scared them. Let's see what they'll do."

"If you're sure." Hank sounded doubtful.

"I'll tell my father, and he can keep an eye on General Trask. Meantime, just be wary of anyone you don't know."

Hank acknowledged that with a grunt that became a yawn. "I'm very tired, for some reason."

"They probably drugged you to keep you away," Scott told him. "Shaw said you were already willing to work with them, if I weren't an obstacle. But their plan to turn me has backfired -- badly. No telling what they'll do now. You should get out of there, get someplace with some security."

"I will."

Scott closed his cell phone and finished pulling his jeans up, snapped and zipped them. He should call Alex now, too, but what would he say? Lorna hadn't acted against him, after all. She hadn't taken him to Shaw, and she hadn't fought back when he'd blasted first Leland and then Shaw. Still, he couldn't just overlook that she was obviously part of the Hellfire Club's inner workings.

He shoved his feet into boots and pulled on a T-shirt. He'd looked better, but this would do for interrogating Trevor Fitzroy. He hesitantly stretched his mind toward Jean's.

Jean had accompanied the glare she'd given him with a mental _I know what I'm doing, Scott. Let me do it,_ that had set the muscles around his eyes throbbing. He knew it was simply stress, and so did she, but that didn't change the immediate responses.

So now he simply questioned whether she was all right, whether the baby was all right. Jean didn't answer, and he assumed that she was still busy with tests.

With a silent sigh, he started for the Danger Room. He could work off a little of that stress during the interrogation.

- X -

Logan stood beside the door to the Danger Room, which at the moment looked like a room in a private mental institution. Trevor Fitzroy lay unconscious on a bed, and Rachel perched on its edge, her fingers lightly resting on the man's temples.

The door opened and Scott stepped inside. The set of his jaw was grim, but Logan didn't detect any signs of anger in his pulse or breathing. He winced internally and braced himself for cold, rational anger when Scott finally had words for him about how he and Rachel had spent their night. In the meantime, they had a prisoner to question.

"He's clean," Logan told the other man. "Nothing on him but a few birthmarks."

"I've given him a 'suggestion' that he won't use his power while he's here -- and I've defined 'here' as the mansion and its grounds," Rachel added.

"What's wrong with Jeannie?" Logan had been holding the question back since Scott had ordered her to the infirmary.

Scott's jaw tensed even more. "We were in a fight, and someone punched her in the stomach."

"Am I okay?" Panic colored Rachel's tone, and she turned wide eyes on the two men. "I mean, is the baby okay?"

"That's what she's checking now," Scott told her. "Are you ready for this?"

"What do you want me to do?" Rachel still sounded strained, but Logan had no doubt she'd do what Scott needed.

"I need to know everything he knows about the Sentinel program," Scott told her. "And the Hellfire Club's involvement with it."

Logan raised an eyebrow. "Chuck wouldn't approve."

"So we should drive him back to the city and turn him loose?" Scott snapped.

"Didn't say that," Logan kept his tone neutral. "Just said he wouldn't approve. You sure you're making the right decision by what you're asking Rae to do?"

"I'm not sure it's the right decision." Scott's quiet admission stunned him. "But I don't see any other choice."

"We could question him the old-fashioned way."

Scott looked dubious. "You think he won't object to you skinning Fitzroy? Or beating him to a pulp?"

Logan snorted. "He'd object to lots of things. But he and Jeannie both talk about not violating anyone else's mind as unethical."

Scott raised one eyebrow at him, but said only, "If it's a matter of violating some ethics versus preventing a catastrophic future, my vote goes with violating ethics. I wouldn't vote the same way in other circumstances. But if it'll make you feel better, you can tell him and I'm sure he'll raise hell with me later."

Much like Scott would raise hell with him later, Logan thought.

"I won't look for anything other than what you said." Rachel knelt beside Fitzroy. "The Hellfire Club, and Sentinels."

"That's all I need."

While Rachel worked, all Logan could hear in the room were heartbeats and breathing. He focused on his own, breathed in and out slowly. He doubted he'd get out of the Danger Room before Scott tore into him. If he were lucky, Scott would keep it to words. In any case, he wanted to be ready for whatever came.

"They were going to force you to support their program?" Rachel's voice combined disbelief and loathing.

"I'm a hard-liner, apparently," Scott said.

Logan couldn't help snorting. "Hard-ass, you mean."

"There's a lot about the Club. People, history..."

"Current membership on the board. And later, compare what you find with the people I saw there." Scott kept his tone neutral and quiet. "The history isn't as important."

"Okay. There's not a lot about the Sentinels. He knows the name, but hasn't been involved. That's been Shaw and Frost and Lensherr's baby."

"Lensherr?" Logan and Scott asked at the same time.

"Magneto?" Logan clarified.

"Uh-huh." Rachel sounded distracted. "And he died, and Shaw was angry because he thought they'd lost Lensherr's contribution to the project."

"What happened?" Scott asked.

"They found someone else," Rachel said.

Scott groaned. "Let me guess. His granddaughter."

"How'd you know?"

Scott's tone was resigned. "Lorna Dane, right?"

"If you're a telepath, what am I doing here?"

Logan chuckled at Rachel's annoyance. "Problem with him being gifted at tactics is he sees paths we don't, sometimes. In this case, though, I'm thinking he has other information."

"Pieces of a puzzle that weren't in order," Scott agreed. "They are now."

"So who's Lorna Dane?" Logan asked.

"My brother's girlfriend."

Logan just raised an eyebrow, and Rachel let out a breath. "What now?"

"Now I go talk to Jean. Keep him out of trouble." Scott turned and left the room.

"He really is a dick," Logan muttered when Scott's footsteps had faded.

- X -

Scott opened the door to the infirmary, frowned at the darkness within. Light from the corridor illuminated only a few feet inside, and he heard no sound. Still, he reached for the light switch, driven to check for himself whether the room was in fact empty or not.

_I'm here._

Panic welled inside him, and he stepped further into the room, cursing the few seconds he had to wait to allow his eyes to adjust to the shadowy interior. If he'd been wearing his glasses, he'd simply switch on their night vision function. Finally, he could dimly make out a darker than dark shape, and he crossed to her side.

She sat on an examination table, and he took her hands in his. "Jean --"

Words failed him, so he could only send his love to her through the thin filament of their link. He knew the grief would leak, too, but shared grief was lessened grief. They could get through this together --

_What?_ Her mental tone was puzzled, and then he felt her exploring his thoughts. "Oh. No. No, I'm fine, as far as we can tell. This early in the pregnancy, abdominal trauma isn't a prime cause of miscarriage."

Relief surged, followed by anger. "So why are you sitting alone in the dark, still in a hospital gown?"

"I killed again." The hollowness of her voice cut through his anger. "I'm a doctor, I swore an oath to do no harm, and I've killed two people in almost as many weeks."

His own anger forgotten as though it had never bloomed within him, he gathered her into his arms.

"I know I had to," she said. "At least Erik -- he wouldn't stop, ever, and he was wrong. But I didn't have to kill that woman -- she didn't kill me, didn't hurt the baby."

"That was instinct," Scott told her quietly. "She struck at your child -- our child -- and you reacted. You know what they say, that the most dangerous creature on the planet is a mother defending her young. Or her unborn."

"That's what scares me. That I didn't think, I just did it. Maybe they're right. Maybe we are too dangerous to live."

_No._ He sent the word with all the mental force he could summon. _Someone like Magneto, who has no remorse over what he's done -- he might be too dangerous to live. We agreed he was. But you? No, that you regret this, that you agonize over it, that tells me you deserve to live more than anyone else I know. Including me._

"Including you?"

"Uh-huh." He perched on the exam table next to her, snuggled her close under his arm. "When I was fighting Magneto, and the continent was breaking apart, I killed Callisto. I didn't have to. I could've just stunned her. But I killed her, and I don't regret it. I didn't then, either. I regretted the deaths from the earthquake and the tsunami, and those are what I had to go to Alaska to grieve. Callisto wasn't even a blip on my radar."

"And that doesn't bother you?"

"It does, sometimes. I think the military upbringing I had has something to do with it." He kept his voice quiet and calm. "I learned early on about things like necessary losses, and that sometimes you have no choice but to respond with deadly force. You learned to be the caring, compassionate woman you are."

She made a noncommittal noise.

"I'm not saying I think killing is easy," he added. "It's not, and it never should be. I just don't overly grieve people who would've killed me if it suited them."

Jean drew a shaky breath. "I feel like a ninny, falling apart like this."

"You're not a ninny, and you're not falling apart." Scott pressed his lips to her forehead. _You're a healer first and foremost. It's one of the reasons I love you. _

Her arms folded around him and she squeezed him tight for a moment. "I'll get over this, I will. I just --"

"You need to grieve. And then you need to forgive yourself." He felt the question in her mind and added, "I forgave you before you did it. I would've done the same thing if I'd been there."

She nodded against his chest, and he could feel some of the tension leaving her body, if not her mind.

"I've never slept on an exam table before." He deliberately lightened his tone.

That startled a laugh from her. "I have -- catnapped during my residency. It's not exactly comfortable."

He shifted so they lay cuddled in each other's arms. "Guess we'll find out if it's better than the couch in my office."


	19. Chapter 19

"Why are you holding a man prisoner in the Danger Room?"

Scott snapped awake at the sound of Charles's voice, taking only a heartbeat to fit the fragmented images together -- Jean in his arms, still in the hospital gown she'd worn last night; clinical overhead lighting -- before he lifted his head to glare at Charles. "Because the guest rooms aren't secure."

"That's not an answer."

"Don't ask me questions while I'm still asleep." In his arms, Jean stirred and mumbled something he couldn't quite make out. He soothed her with a touch through their bond, and carefully sat up.

"You're not asleep now." Lines of anger etched Charles's face, and Scott realized he hadn't seen Charles angry before.

"No, I'm not." He rubbed his eyes and slid down from the examination table. "And he's here because we needed answers and he has them, and we didn't have anywhere else to keep him."

"What are you planning to do with him?"

"Talk to him. Probably let him go."

"Probably?" Trust Charles to zero in on the conditional, Scott thought wryly.

_You knew he wouldn't approve._ Jean's mental voice sounded more alert than his own physical voice did.

_I knew._Scott quirked an eyebrow at Charles. "If he won't listen to reason, what should I do? Ask Rachel, or Jean, or you, to change his mind and make him see reason?" He didn't wait for an answer. "I can't do that, Charles, not after they tried to do the same to me. It's dicey enough that Rachel gave him a suggestion not to use his powers while he's here."

"Why did you bring him here if you didn't know what you were going to do with him once he was here?"

"I suppose we could've questioned him in the hotel room, but then Jean wouldn't have gotten here for the exam. Of course, I could have taken her to one of the city's emergency rooms, but we'd still be there and she still wouldn't have had her exam." Scott stopped himself before he enumerated half a dozen other scenarios. "I made a decision in field combat conditions. It may not be perfect, but it was the best I saw at the time."

"Exam?" For a moment, concern replaced anger in Charles's expression, and he glanced at Jean. She sighed and opened her eyes to meet their mentor's gaze. Scott would've known they were speaking telepathically even without the link Jean had established. "I'm glad you're all right," Charles told Jean, then focused again on Scott. "Any entry into another's mind without permission --"

"--is wrong," Scott finished with him. "You've been telling me that since I got here."

"Obviously you weren't listening," Charles retorted.

"I was listening." He felt the muscles in his jaw tensing, and forced himself to relax them. "Do you think I liked asking Rachel to scan him -- especially after I got a taste of what an unethical telepath might do? But the truth is this, Charles, and it's not pleasant. The truth is that ethics in the real world aren't always black and white. Sometimes, we're going to have to choose the lesser of two evils, which is what I did last night."

"The lesser of two evils is still evil."

"I know." He met Charles's gaze evenly, and he couldn't help remembering the last time he'd challenged his mentor. He'd known then that he'd have to leave if he lost, and he knew it again now. The flicker in Charles's eyes told him the other man knew it, knew, too, that this time if Scott left he'd take the team with him.

"All of the team's resources are here." Charles had obviously picked up his thought.

Scott gave a half-shrug. "We can find other resources. The Danger Room would be a loss, but we can work around that, too."

"Your cavalier attitude is disturbing."

"It's not cavalier." Scott kept his anger under control with effort. He wasn't ready to invite Charles into his mind. "Cavalier would've been the other option, just mind-wiping him or worse. Know what disturbs me?"

"What?" Charles looked interested.

"That you trust me to walk around with a built-in laser cannon capable of leveling a city, but not to make a decision like this."

His tone had gone cold, and Charles flinched as though he'd slapped him. "I trust you, Scott."

"But?"

Charles gave a weary sigh, suddenly looked older than his years. "I fear that once we start down a dark path there's no turning back."

"You're right," Scott said, felt Charles's shock reverberating through his mental link with Jean. "There's never turning back, only going forward, keeping our eyes on our goal, and our ethics in our minds."

"And there's no one better at keeping ethics in mind than you," Jean gave Charles a small smile.

Charles echoed the smile, but kept his attention focused on Scott. "I expect you to handle this with discretion. The students have no need to know."

Scott nodded.

"And I will be watching the path you walk," Charles added. "Even the most surefooted can stumble."

It wasn't until Charles rolled out of the room that Scott relaxed. Or so he thought until he felt Jean working at his neck and shoulders. Her fingers found knots in his traps he hadn't known he had and he took a few long, slow breaths to try to ease the tension that had settled around his neck and shoulders.

"You're thinking heavy thoughts," Jean murmured.

"This is new?"

"Heavier than usual." She dug deeper and he grunted. "Want to share?"

"Connections. Themes. The Hellfire Club's telepath tried to force me to do something against my will. The government through this Sentinel program, if it passes, would force mutants to be 'cured' against their will. And Charles and I were just talking about what to do with Fitzroy." He let out a long breath, consciously tensing and relaxing muscles around where Jean worked. "All of those actions relate to removing someone's free choice because someone else thinks it's necessary."

"Might makes right."

"Beyond that," Scott said, flashing back to his meeting with Hank, Shaw, and Wyngarde. "Might, yes, but might alone isn't draconian in and of itself. There's another motivation at work, even baser than power."

She picked up his thought. "Fear. The government's afraid of us. A lot of normal humans are afraid of us. We're afraid -- or at least concerned -- about what Fitzroy might do." She paused, and even her hands stilled on his shoulders. "What is the Hellfire Club afraid of?"

Scott blinked. "That may be the key question."

She squeezed his shoulders. "We'll figure out the answer."

He turned to study her. She looked serious, but not drawn. "How are you this morning?"

"Better." She managed another smile. "Like you said, all we can do is the best we can with what we're given."

"And learn from our mistakes," Scott added. "Beginning now."

"Now?"

"Now." Scott took a breath. "You're off active roster until after you deliver or we know that you've miscarried."

He felt the relief through their link. "I was going to suggest it."

"I'm sorry." He sent the sentiment along with the words. "I never thought it would go bad like that. I'll do better."

She came into his arms, holding him tightly. His arms went around her, and he was surprised to touch skin beneath his hands instead of fabric, and then he remembered she still wore an open-backed hospital gown.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, whispering into her hair.

"I'll be okay," she whispered back. "We'll be okay."

He wasn't sure which "we" she meant at first, then realized she meant all of them. And she was right. She might've already forgiven him for what happened at the party, but he hadn't forgiven himself. That would take time.

- X -

He'd slept late enough that he'd missed the morning run, Scott noted when he got back to his and Jean's room, but he'd accept only getting four hours of sleep plus the shock of the attack on an unborn child as a valid excuse from anyone else. It would be silly to berate himself for those same events.

A hot shower helped ease the cobwebs from his brain and the lingering tension from his shoulders. By the time he'd combed his hair, he knew how to handle Fitzroy. He made two calls, each to the point. "Meet me outside the Danger Room in ten minutes."

When he arrived at the Danger Room, Peter, Rachel, and Logan had gathered in the corridor. He'd expected Peter and Rachel, since he'd called them. He hadn't expected Logan, and fought the rise of bile at the thought that he might've been with Rachel when he'd called.

Maybe Logan could smell that, because he straightened from where he leaned against the wall. "Stayed watch overnight. He didn't make a sound."

Rachel frowned at the door. "He's still asleep."

"Good," Scott said, and wasn't certain whether he meant that Fitzroy was still asleep or that Logan hadn't been with Rachel. He shoved that aside and looked at Peter. "You and Rachel are going to take Fitzroy back into the city. Rachel can pick up the location from my memory," he added and a moment later felt his daughter's touch in his mind. He also gave her the memory of how Jean had dealt with Fitzroy's power. "We don't have a right to hold him, and we don't have good enough evidence to charge him."

Peter nodded. "We'll take care of him."

Scott pulled out his wallet and gave Rachel the cash in it. "Have lunch after, if you want."

Peter opened the Danger Room door and moments later had Fitzroy over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. "It will be easier to load him in and out of the Bentley's back seat."

"Take it," Scott told him.

"Yeah," Logan said. "You dent it, we'll take it out of your allowance."

Peter grunted an acknowledgment and followed Rachel to the elevator. Scott saw the glance she threw over her shoulder at Logan and the other man's responsive nod.

"There a reason you sent Pete?" Logan asked when the elevator doors had closed.

"If he's the junior team commander, he should get some experience at command," Scott answered easily. "This is a low-risk start."

"That's the only reason?"

"What other would there be?" He'd never been able to pull off that innocent act with Jean, even before she'd established their mental rapport. He wasn't betting it would fool Wolverine, either.

"To keep her away from me." Good thing he'd had no one to bet with.

"What is it with you and women I love?"

"You may be a dick, but you've got good taste in women. And you two made a good kid."

"That's the part that worries me," Scott admitted. "She's still a kid -- yes, I know what she's been through, and I'd take her at my side in a fight any day. But that's not everything."

"No, it's not." Scott must've let his surprise at the other man's agreement show, because Logan continued, "I wouldn't have started with her if I thought that was all she had."

Scott couldn't help the grin that quirked his lip. "Good to know. I figured you'd started with her just to piss me off."

"Easier ways to piss you off than that," Logan said. Then, "You gonna tell me to stay away from your girl?"

"Would it matter if I did?"

"She came to me, Scott."

Scott had to believe the simple honesty in Logan's tone. "Okay."

"Okay?" Logan sounded suspicious.

He had to grin. "I remember when I was a kid -- anything forbidden was automatically what I had to have. And I know you won't deliberately hurt her."

"I was expecting a fight."

"You get up too quickly. It's not nearly as satisfying as decking someone else."

Logan chuckled, and Scott's gut relaxed. Now if he could just somehow erase the image of Logan and Rachel on his bike.... "Why'd it have to be the bike?"

He didn't realize he'd said it aloud until Logan snorted. "She's a Summers. She's got the need for speed inbred."

"You buy a Harley, I'll show you how to modify her."

For long moments, Logan just studied him. "You got a deal."

"There you are." Kitty phased through the elevator doors before they'd fully opened, her attention focused on Scott. "You haven't been checking that Cyclops email, have you?"

"Maybe twice since you created it."

"It's getting full," Kitty told him. "I went in earlier and added some filters, but it's still got several hundred new messages. Some of them might be important."

"I'll check it now," Scott told her.

"And maybe you can get Jones or someone to help you go through it a bit faster." She waved and phased back into the elevator.

"Because calling is just too easy," Logan muttered.

"We have powers. We should use them when we want to, not just when the bad guys are about to take over." Scott touched the call button. "Marie could use some extra money, couldn't she?"

"She's not getting the team stipend anymore. Probably could."

"I could use a part-time assistant for things like email. And she already knows about the team, and I trust her."

"Have to ask her," Logan said as the elevator doors opened and they stepped inside.

Scott pulled up the email account in question on his handheld and skimmed over the first few emails. "What the --?"

"What?"

Scott glanced up when the doors opened again and stepped into the main floor hallway. "_Playboy_."

"Subscription offer?"

He read the email. "They want to do a photo spread of the female X-Men."

"Oh?" Logan looked interested. "I could use some artwork in the cottage."

"No." Scott didn't even have to think about that answer.

"You sure? A mother-daughter centerfold would be hot."

"You really want half a million guys jacking off to that?"

"When you put it that way -- bad idea."

"Besides, the X-Men are heroes, not objects," Scott said, typing the words as he said them. It was an abrupt, maybe rude, response, but the request went beyond rude to invasive. "While I have no philosophical objections to such photo spreads, granting your request would not further the image nor goals of the X-Men."

He clicked "send" with more force than necessary.

"That a polite way of saying, 'kiss off'?" Logan asked.

"More polite than I would've liked, but I didn't want to blow the bridge to smithereens. _Playboy_ is about more than centerfolds."

Logan nodded and fell into step with him when he turned toward the kitchen. Not only had he missed the morning run, he'd missed breakfast. So had Logan, he realized, if the other man had spent the night guarding Fitzroy.

"So your brother's girl is involved?"

He'd almost forgotten. "I don't know how much."

"You gonna call him?"

"And tell him what? 'Alex, Lorna's grandfather is responsible for what happened to California, and I think she may be following in his footsteps'?" Scott opened the refrigerator and pulled out the jug of orange juice. "She may not know anything about what Shaw and his buddies are trying to do. She may just be a member of the Hellfire Club."

"What if she is involved?"

"I'll burn that bridge when I get to it." He didn't want to think about what would happen to his still-tentative relationship with Alex if the X-Men had to fight Lorna.

He'd been too quiet too long, apparently, because Logan said, "So -- if you have no philosophical objections to photo spreads, does that mean I can do one of my own for decorating purposes?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because," Scott put the jug of orange juice back in the fridge and picked up his glass, "you gave me a vote."

He raised his glass in mock toast and left the kitchen, Logan's curse echoing behind him.

- X -

The views overlooking Central Park were lost on Lorna Dane, though she stood staring out at the patch of relative darkness engulfed by the rest of the city. They'd fled -- such a harsh word, but accurate -- the Club, and regrouped here at Emma Frost's penthouse apartment.

Behind her, Shaw and Frost sat in Queen Anne chairs, each talking into their cell phones. Between them, they were assuring that any inquiry into the night's events would be cursory at best. Lorna heard the others talking about Hampshire's death and pulled a little further into her own thoughts.

"That was a wasted effort," Leland rumbled. His bulk filled most of the sofa that faced the wall of windows where Lorna stood.

"We didn't know Grey's a telepath as well as a telekinetic," Frost said. "If we had, things would've gone differently."

"Is she the source of the blocks you felt?" da Costa asked.

"Indirectly. He has very strong natural shields, which I assume developed because he's spent so much time with Grey."

"And Xavier," Lorna said without thinking.

"Xavier?" Shaw's pointed question made her turn away from the night-lit skyline and face the Hellfire Club. Strange how they still appeared calm and in control, despite the death of one of their number and the capture of another.

"He's the strongest telepath in the world, as far as we know." She couldn't help that her tone implied that the Hellfire Club should've known that. That they didn't meant they didn't know Xavier or his X-Men well. More, it meant her grandfather hadn't told them everything he'd known.

Grandpa Lensherr had been a member of this inner circle, easily Shaw's equal for power, if not wealth -- Shaw kept his wealth guarded and hidden; her grandfather had used his to try to build a mutant utopia -- and he had told them less of what he knew about the X-Men than he'd told her. She needed to think about that, but if the expressions Shaw, Frost, and the others wore were any indication, she wouldn't get time to do that soon.

Shaw glanced at Frost. "I think we need to know what else Lensherr never told us."

"Don't try it," Lorna said. She'd seen Frost's gaze go slightly unfocused as it had before she'd tried to mindlink with Scott.

"I never could read Lensherr," Frost told her. "But you broadcast. You won't even be a challenge."

Lorna didn't bother to respond verbally. Instead, she reached out with the power that was so similar to her grandfather's and grabbed the candlesticks on the mantel, flinging them at the blonde telepath. The candlesticks appeared to be silver, but Lorna sensed that beneath the silver plating lay steel -- low grade steel, she acknowledged, but still enough for her magnetic powers to affect.

Lorna didn't mean to kill Frost, just to knock the other woman out, provide a distraction so she could escape.

Before the sticks reached their target, a wave of nausea and dizziness crashed over Lorna. Payge, she realized, using her hypersonic emissions. Lorna tried to direct the candlesticks toward Payge instead, but the vertigo made it hard to concentrate.

She fell to the floor, beating the candlesticks by only heartbeats.

"As I said," Lorna's vision blurred, but she could make out Frost's blonde hair and too-satisfied smirk, "you're no challenge."

Lorna's world went dark.


	20. Chapter 20

"I don't believe these people," Marie muttered.

"What?" Scott didn't look up. Fitzroy hadn't rejoined his compatriots, nor had Charles found any trace of the other members of the Hellfire Club even with Cerebro's assistance. So he'd commandeered Marie and they'd spent the last couple of hours culling the accumulated email.

"_Teen Star Beat_ wants to do an article on Bobby. 'They call him the Iceman, but is he hot'. Where do they get those taglines?"

"Fortune cookies," Scott deadpanned, finally looking up at her. He'd delegated most of the requests for interviews and appearances to her after giving her general guidelines for responding.

Marie snorted. "Typical 'Thanks, but no' response?"

"Do you think Bobby would be interested?" She looked so affronted, he had to tease her a little. "If it's an interview with a couple of photos, that's okay."

She glared at him. "And a poster. Centerfold."

"Centerfold" for teen magazines had different connotations than a centerfold for _Playboy_ -- at least Bobby would have his clothes on -- but the principle had to remain constant. "No centerfolds. Interview and photos are okay if Bobby wants to do it, but he's eighteen so it's his decision."

Marie frowned at him, but forwarded the information to Bobby's own X-Men email account. "And there's one from _Playboy_."

"I already told them no centerfolds."

"Must be a different department. They want to interview you."

Before Scott could answer, his cell phone rang. "Summers."

"I need a favor." It was Alex's voice, full of worry.

"Sure, if I can. What?"

"I need you to get to St. Luke's Hospital in New York and check on Lorna."

"What's wrong with Lorna?" His first reaction wasn't concern for his brother's girlfriend but wondering whether this had anything to do with the Hellfire Club. He supposed he should feel guilty for that.

"I don't know. They said that she'd been hurt, but they wouldn't give any more details. And it's going to be eight hours before I can even get there, goddamn flight schedules --"

"Alex." Scott injected a hint of command into his voice, and Alex paused. "I'll send someone to pick you up. You'll be here in just over two hours."

"Two hours?" Alex sounded incredulous.

Scott ignored him. "Jean will come pick you up, and I'll get over to the hospital and see what I can find out in the meantime."

"I guess I need to get to the airport."

"Luke Air Force Base," Scott corrected. "I'll call Dad and get the clearance for Jean to land there." He didn't wait for his brother's acknowledgment before hanging up and sending, _Jean?_

_Here._ Her response came immediately.

_You heard?_

_I got the gist. I'm on the way to pre-flight._

_You're not going alone,_ Scott told her. _And I need Rachel with me at the hospital._

_'Ro's busy with school stuff. Logan?_

_Fine. You can start teaching him to fly on the way. We need more pilots._

_Spoken like a true Air Force brat._

He didn't bother to reply. Instead, he called his father and made the necessary arrangements for the Blackbird to land at Luke. So far, the Joint Chiefs hadn't balked at any of their requests to use Air Force bases for such trips, but he'd have to find the time to work out a clear agreement for such things. Yet another item on his never-ending 'to do' list.

"Mom said you need me?" Rachel's voice came from the door to his office.

"Uh-huh. Do as much as you can," he told Marie, even as he rose from his desk. "We can go over the odd ones later."

"Right," Marie said.

Scott urged Rachel to walk with him. "Alex's girlfriend is in the hospital." Quickly, he told her what little he knew.

"And you want me to smooth the way in."

"If needed." They'd reached the garage, and Scott slid behind the wheel of his Mazda. "And you get to meet your uncle."

- X -

"So what the hell is really going on here?"

Scott turned at Alex's question. Jean had arrived with Alex, then gone to get real information from the doctors, as only another doctor could. "What do you mean?"

He and Rachel had chosen to wait in the hospital's chapel, and at the moment, they were the only ones present, so Alex's demand hadn't disturbed others. "She's not making much sense, too dopey, but she said something about going to a club with you --" Alex jabbed his finger into Scott's chest. "And then something about a fight. What's going on?"

"I'm not sure I should tell you everything --"

"Do not give me that." Alex's voice was tight, seething.

"Did you know she's a mutant, too?"

"She's a mutant?" Anger drained from Alex's face, replaced by confusion.

"You'll want to sit down for this." Scott sat on one end of a bench, and after a moment, Alex sat down across from him. "Lorna's not just any mutant, either. Her grandfather's Erik Lensherr. Magneto."

Alex swallowed. "That should surprise me more than it does."

"Why doesn't it?"

"Because -- when she went to visit him, she went to Parkfield, California. And he died suddenly -- she didn't mention anything about an illness when she went to visit."

It took a moment for Scott to recall their discussion of exactly how Magneto had divided California, and that he would've needed an assistant somewhere further north along the San Andreas, and Parkfield had been the likely location for that assistant. A granddaughter with the same mutation would be an ideal choice.

"The club she was talking about is called the Hellfire Club," Scott said. "It's a long story, but the leadership of that club are mutants. Last night --" had it really only been twenty-four hours? -- "Jean and I went to meet with them, and Lorna was also there. She introduced herself and gave me a tour of the club before I met with their leadership. The meeting got a little -- explosive. Literally."

"What happened?" Alex's voice sounded hollow, almost numb.

"They attacked Jean and tried to force me to go along with their plans. It didn't work."

"So what did they do to Lorna? Why'd they hurt her, if she's one of them?"

"She's not." Rachel spoke from where she stood at the podium. "Not really. Magneto was one of the inner circle, but he didn't agree with them entirely."

"Jean?" Alex frowned up at Rachel. "I thought you went to talk to the doctor. And didn't you have long hair?"

"This is Rachel," Scott said. "Rachel Summers. Jean's and my daughter."

Rachel came forward. "Hi, Uncle Alex. It's good to see you again."

Alex blinked a couple of times, but managed to shake Rachel's hand. Even through his shock, Scott thought, he'd remembered their conversation in Arizona. "How does Lorna fit into all this?"

Rachel glanced at Scott, and at his nod, gave the edited version of events they'd agreed on. "I scanned her when we arrived. She wanted her grandfather's place in the Hellfire Club. They wanted more from her. When Dad said they tried to force him to go along with their plans, he meant that they have a telepath among them who tried to change his mind for him."

"It didn't work?"

"All those years being around telepaths gave me very strong defenses," Scott said. "Or so they concluded. She could've forced it, but there was a better than even chance she'd do permanent damage."

"And that would've told Mom something was definitely wrong and brought too much attention to the Club," Rachel explained. "About then is when Mom and Dad broke loose, and the Club leadership fled. Lorna went with them, and made the mistake of letting them know that Magneto hadn't told them everything about the X-Men. So --"

She broke off, glancing again at Scott.

"So?" Alex demanded. "What happened?"

"Lorna doesn't have the natural shields I do," Scott said quietly. "Her mind's been ... well, harvested. They took the information they wanted and left her to be picked up in the street."

"She fought back," Rachel said, "but it wasn't enough."

Alex looked shaken, and who could blame him? "Will she be all right?"

"She's very lucky," Scott told him. "They left her personality and most of her memories intact. She'll probably need some telepathic therapy, so Rachel says, but we know people who can do that."

"You know people?" Alex had gone back to angry. "What the hell does that mean?"

"It means," Rachel said, "that my mom is a doctor and a telepath."

"More importantly," Scott added, "Professor Xavier is a psychologist and the strongest telepath we know of. If anyone can repair whatever damage was done to Lorna's mind, the two of them can."

"Jesus." Alex lunged to his feet, started pacing the chapel. "You sound so calm about this."

"I guess we're more used to believing impossible things before breakfast," Scott said. "But you're not entirely a novice at that."

Alex's fist clenched, and for a moment, Scott saw power shimmer around his brother's hand. "Wouldn't have figured you for the queen," he quipped.

"I told you, I'm not that kinky." He saw Rachel's eyebrows shoot up, but Alex gave a half-hearted chuckle.

When Alex turned back to face them, his expression had hardened. "So you're going after this Hellfire Club, right?"

The door to the chapel opened before Scott could reply, and Jean stepped in.

"I spoke to her treating physician," Jean said. "She's got some damage to her inner ear and a mild concussion. He wants to keep her overnight for observation and refer her to a specialist for the inner ear."

"Permanent damage?" Alex asked.

"He suspects a permanent partial hearing loss," Jean told him. "He sounded optimistic, though -- and it wasn't just a cover. I hope she'll come to the school for treatment of the psychic injuries, but I can't force her to do that."

"I'll talk to her," Alex said.

"She may not want to," Rachel said quietly. "The X-Men stood against Magneto, and she has a lot of rage against them. Dad in particular, because he coordinated the attack that killed Magneto."

"I'll talk to her," Alex repeated, then focused on Scott once again. "So you're going after them, right?"

Scott sighed. "It's not that simple, Alex. For one, we don't know where they are. For another, so far, they haven't done anything we can charge them with."

"The hell they haven't. You told me they attacked Jean, tried to change your mind for you, and they also attacked Lorna."

"I said they haven't done anything we can charge them with," Scott reminded him. "Jean took care of the person who attacked her, and there aren't laws on the books yet making psychic assault illegal."

Alex swore and pounded his fist against the chapel wall.

"It may be a moot point," Rachel said. "I think they'll come after us."

"Is Lorna with them or not?" Scott asked.

He'd expected Alex to bristle, to protest that of course Lorna wasn't anywhere but on the side of the angels, but Alex merely looked grimly curious.

"I don't know for sure. She was more sympathetic to them before they turned on her, obviously," Rachel added dryly, "but there's a lot of anger and grief and even hate, and I don't know what she'll do. She doesn't, either, but then you haven't talked to her, have you?"

"It didn't seem the right thing to do at the moment," Scott said, "but I will."

"No, I will," Jean said. "It was me, after all."

"It was both of us." He'd come up with the idea, he'd gotten close enough to use the knife, and then Jean had taken over.

"I'll talk to her." Jean emphasized the words, and Scott felt her determination through their link. Talking to Lorna would be a form of penance for her. He couldn't deny her that.

- X -

Jean stepped into Lorna Dane's room, closing the door quietly behind her. A glance at a monitor beside the bed told her that Lorna's vital signs were holding steady. She hadn't expected differently, but the confirmation still reassured her. Lorna turned to face the door, frowned at her. "Who are you?"

"Jean Grey."

"What do you want, Phoenix?"

"I want to know if there's any good reason I shouldn't have you arrested."

Jean was pretty sure she looked as surprised as Lorna did. She'd come into the room feeling some need to apologize for Erik's death, but instead the first words from her mouth were confrontational. And why not? Didn't Lorna share the responsibility for the death and destruction in California? Hadn't Scott and Alex figured that out?

"Arrested? For what? In case you hadn't noticed, I'm the victim here."

"Here and now, yes," Jean said. "But you're guilty of mass homicide, as well. At the least as an accessory."

Her psychic sense picked up a flash of surprise, then a flood of guilt. "How'd you know?"

"Scott and Alex figured it out."

"You can't prove anything."

"I don't have to. But between expert testimony in geology, plate tectonics, and electromagnetism, and direct evidence as to where you where on the days in question, I'd bet a good prosecutor could."

"You'd also have to prove I have a similar power to my grandfather." Lorna's tone was cool enough, but the rings holding the curtain around the bed rattled.

"Like I said, it's not my job to prove anything. But I do think there's enough circumstantial evidence to have you arrested." Jean sat in the visitor chair. "So the question is, why shouldn't I?"

"Why would you arrest me instead of killing me, like you did my grandfather?"

Jean considered her words carefully before answering.

"Erik was a friend," she said finally. "He was the first one who ever encouraged me to use my powers and learn what they could do. He was a friend and a teacher. And I miss him."

Lorna snorted but didn't say anything. Her disbelief shone in Jean's psychic perception like neon on a dark night.

"I miss him," Jean repeated. "I've missed him since before Liberty Island -- since he decided that mutant superiority was the only way to achieve mutant rights. My friend died then."

"He died in Los Angeles," Lorna snarled. "And you killed him -- you X-Men."

"Yes, I killed him."

"You --" Jean read Lorna's intent even before her fists clenched at her sides and slipped into the other woman's mind.

_I can lock your mind in place before you can blink,_ Jean told her. _Or we can talk about this like rational people. It's your choice._

She felt Lorna's capitulation, but the other woman's body remained tense and the tone from the pulse monitor pinged a staccato beat. "So talk."

"Whether you believe me or not doesn't change what he became. He was someone who wanted mutant rights, and he became someone who demanded and tried to enforce mutant superiority."

"And you've been so successful at getting mutant rights."

Jean ignored Lorna's sarcasm. "I don't know when he turned so radical. Just one day, he wasn't the Erik I'd known and respected, even loved. He became someone who'd kill to get what he wanted. He caused the deaths of hundreds of thousands of people in California alone when he ripped it apart, not to mention the million and a half dead overseas in the resulting tsunami. He ordered an attack on Alcatraz in which hundreds of mutants and humans alike died. And that's not even counting Senator Kelly, the guards at the plastic prison, and the guards on the prison convoy in Iowa."

- X -

Lorna flinched away from the litany of her grandfather's crimes. She knew them all too well -- had helped him, even. But that wasn't how she preferred to remember him. She remembered him holding her on his lap while he played chess, and taking her to buy an ice cream when she lost her first baby tooth. More, she remembered when her power had manifested, how scared she'd been. Her grandfather had soothed her and taken her to a junkyard to teach her how to use it.

"He talked so much about mutants and how much better we were than anyone else," Grey continued. "And he never thought, never cared, that as a result of his actions, a hundred thousand or more mutants might have died. Or that every one of the people whose death he caused might have sired or borne a mutant in the future. That kind of zeal is the kind that will only get the Mutant Registration Act and worse made into law. His actions betrayed his own cause."

_No!_ Lorna didn't know if she screamed aloud or only in her mind. Either way, Grey would hear it. _No, he didn't. He did what had to be done!_

"Wolverine got it right, at Liberty Island," Grey said. "Only none of us realized just how right at the time. If he really cared about mutant rights and really wanted to see them come about, he wouldn't have risked the life of another mutant to do it. If he really believed in his cause, he'd've risked it all himself."

"He couldn't --"

"He could. Instead, he chose a path that, had he succeeded, would've killed a young girl. Another mutant. The very kind of person he was supposed to be helping." Grey's voice held no forgiveness. "There were, and are, non-violent alternatives, and he refused to pursue those. He chose a violent course and planned to set himself up as king after the revolution."

Images of death and destruction filled Lorna's mind -- wave after wave of people dying, drowning, crushed to death under collapsing buildings. She felt the pressure of water against her body, the dread certainty that if she tried to breathe, she'd die, and then the need to breathe, desperately overriding all sense and logic, and the breath that sealed her doom.

And just as she felt the water filling her lungs, she was struggling to keep her balance as the floor churned beneath her. Pictures fell from the walls, drawers crashed open, and she stumbled toward the door -- not for protection, but to get out, out of this building that heaved and shook around her. Then an overhead crack, sharper than lightning, and diving aside, only to slide backward as the earth shrugged again. Pain lancing through her legs, and the sickening crunch of bone breaking, pinned beneath plaster and truss.

She fought to free herself from the nightmare. Too much, she couldn't handle it. What the hell was Grey doing to her? Grey --

_Get out of my head!_

"I'm not in your head, Lorna." Grey's voice was still calm. "You're doing that to yourself because you know what he did. You helped him do it."

"It was necessary." She barely recognized the raspy, hoarse whisper as her own.

"Was it?" Again that maddeningly calm voice.

Her grandfather had believed it was necessary, and he'd come to her for her assistance, and she'd believed him. She'd believed him when he said the news media painted his actions as worse than they were because he was a mutant. Humans, he'd said with scorn, would've gotten better treatment.

She'd listened to his talk of a better world, and believed it because she wanted to believe it. She'd submerged the geologist who knew what would happen if he succeeded in ripping half of California off the North American continent and instead looked forward to living openly and freely as a mutant.

She'd helped him murder more than a million people.

She moaned aloud.

- X -

Jean sat beside Lorna, feeling the emotions sweeping through the other woman, an odd kind of vigil. When Lorna's pulse jumped past a hundred, Jean had found the nurses on duty and broadcast 'everything's okay here' signals, so she and Lorna had been undisturbed. She wouldn't have expected a nurse to come in, since Lorna wasn't on telemetry, but the extra precaution couldn't hurt.

Now Lorna had gone still, one arm over her eyes, and Jean willed her personal shields to remain down so she could monitor Lorna's emotional state. She would have preferred to leave this work to the professor, but something had compelled her to come and speak to Lorna privately. Now she simply waited for the storm of the other woman's emotions to pass. She had no idea what would be left in their wake.

When Lorna finally looked back at Jean, her eyes were red and tears glistened on her cheeks. "I'm so sorry."

Jean nodded acknowledgment of Lorna's words. Behind them, she sensed a sincere apology, and a guilt that would likely tinge the rest of Lorna's life. Neither of which made up for what she'd done.

"You have to kill me," Lorna said. "It's the only way you'll be sure I won't do what he did."

"No."

Lorna snorted her disbelief.

"Really." Jean took a breath, let it out slowly as she rebuilt her psychic shields. Then she met Lorna's gaze and said, "We -- I -- killed Erik because I believed -- and still do -- that he would only do worse and that there was no other way to stop him. I grieved doing it, because he was a teacher and a friend, but ultimately, I believe it was necessary."

Lorna nodded, her expression tight. At least she was still listening.

"You don't have the same anger, the same fury, that he did. I don't believe you'll do worse."

"But --?"

"But you still have a lot to answer for. And the courts will decide how you'll answer."

Jean reached out to touch Scott's presence through their link. He'd heard the conversation and now told her that the police had arrived.

"The only question is," Jean continued, "whether or not I need to give you a psychic suggestion not to use your powers to escape."

Lorna swallowed. "No."

"Good." Jean stood just as the police came into the room. "Don't make me regret it."


	21. Chapter 21

Alex hadn't let himself look too closely at the mansion on his first visit here. He'd been far too focused on getting the information about Scott's powers delivered. Now, though, he'd let Scott persuade him into coming here when they left the hospital -- down time, his brother had said. Down time, right. He had nothing to do here, no job, no duties. He found himself prowling the hallways, examining every portrait, every sculpture, and rearranging every bouquet.

"Would you like some tea?"

Alex jumped at the sound of the calm, British-accented voice, then turned to see Charles Xavier sitting in the doorway to what Scott had said was his office.

"I'm more of a coffee kind of guy," Alex told him. "All those late nights working on my master's thesis."

"Coffee is for working," Xavier agreed. "Tea is for relaxing."

"Like I have much reason to relax."

"And thus the afternoon tea. Join me?"

It wasn't really a request, and both men knew it. Alex gave in with as much good grace as he could manage, and followed Xavier into the room. Xavier rolled his wheelchair into a place that seemed made for it, across a carved mahogany coffee table from a leather sofa. A silver tea service rested on a small table beside the wheelchair.

Xavier picked up the teapot and poured. "When Jean was learning to control her power, I used to have her serve. Without using her hands."

Alex took the cup from him. "Oh?"

"I also had her clean up the spills." Xavier smiled with genuine fondness, and Alex couldn't help chuckling. "Of which there were many."

"No doubt." Alex took a sip, the tea not quite scalding his tongue. Maybe if he took a gulp, he'd burn the inside of his mouth enough that he wouldn't have to try to make conversation.

"The purpose of having tea is not to talk," Xavier said, and Alex glanced at him, aware that in this place Xavier could well have literally read his mind. "It is to take a break and allow the mind to rest before resuming activity."

"Rest. Right." He didn't mean to be rude, but his mind was on emotional overload. So much that he'd allowed Scott to bring him back here instead of catching the first available flight back to Phoenix. Which he should do, he knew. Two unscheduled absences in as many weeks might be difficult to explain -- especially when he couldn't simply tell the whole truth.

"It's when the mind is at rest that it processes and absorbs new experiences and information," Xavier said. Then he smiled. "Convincing Scott to sit still for tea was a challenge, too."

Alex looked around the office, trying to picture Scott sitting as he was. "I can imagine."

"He doesn't join us as often as I'd prefer," Xavier continued. "And only when he's feeling overwhelmed enough to admit that he might be having some trouble focusing."

Alex laughed. "And God forbid he ever have to admit that. I'm stubborn, but I'm not that stubborn."

Xavier merely sipped his tea. Alex recognized the tactic, but had to admit the truth.

"Okay, maybe I am," Alex admitted. "But I have a lot to process and absorb. My girlfriend is an accessory to mass murder."

"Is that all?" Xavier's tone reminded him of Scott's dry humor.

"I should be upset that she lied about being a mutant, but I didn't tell her I'm one, so that's a wash," Alex said. "I should've known something was going on."

"Should she have known you're a mutant, too?"

"Why should she? I never told anyone."

Xavier took another sip of tea.

"I get the point," Alex said. "She didn't tell me, either -- but I didn't put together where she was and when she was gone with what happened. I chose to be blind."

Alex stared into his teacup. He'd chosen to be blind about a lot of things, he knew. He'd only recently tried to see again, and though he hated to admit it, Scott had been the first light in the darkness, with his request for help understanding his new powers. Then the revelations about Lorna -- he felt like a fool.

"We can't change what we have done, only what we choose to do going forward."

Alex drained his cup. That was the question. What would he choose to do now?

Xavier set his cup aside. "Will you excuse me? Someone's arriving that I must see."

"Of course." Alex put his own cup back on the tray. He was an intruder here.

"Scott has told you the school's mission, hasn't he?" Xavier waited until Alex had risen to his feet before rolling his chair toward the door. Alex took the unspoken invitation to walk beside him.

"That's not a subject that's ever come up in conversation."

"We're a refuge from a hostile world."

Alex mulled that over as he paced Xavier down the hall. "That's a noble purpose."

"And we don't judge where someone might be a refugee from."

Two steps into the reception hall, Alex froze in place. Lorna stood there, looking nervous and pale.

- X -

Jean turned her cell phone in her hands. She should just make the call -- open the phone, find the name, and dial. It wasn't that difficult, so why was she hesitating?

She knew the answer to that. Once she called Hank, there was no going back, no changing her mind. She'd be committed to becoming the Secretary of Mutant Affairs, pending confirmation by the Senate. All those theoretical changes to her and Scott's lives would all too soon become all too real.

The phone vibrated in her hands, and she fumbled with it for a moment before recovering and answering. "Jean Grey."

"I thought I'd call and warn you." She recognized Keith Stephens' voice immediately.

"Warn me? About what?"

"The _Chronicle_ is running a special series on the X-Men," he said. "The first article will hit Sunday, then one a day for the rest of the week."

"Oh." For a woman with an M.D. and a Ph.D., she'd gone suddenly inarticulate. A special series would be just a taste of what was to come once she began the confirmation process. "That's great. Congratulations."

"You don't sound enthusiastic. Is something wrong?"

"Just a lot on my mind at the moment." Jean leaned back in her office chair. "You'll send us copies, right?"

"I'll email the text of the articles right now. Do you want copies of the paper after they're published?"

"If Scott does, he can get them himself."

Keith laughed. "You keeping him in line?"

"You have no idea." Because that's exactly what she'd have to do, once she was confirmed. She'd have to dance the line between diplomacy and action. "But he'll be glad to get the publicity."

"These aren't puff pieces," Keith said.

"I didn't mean to imply that they are." Jean sighed. "I'm sorry, Keith. I'm putting off a call I'm not looking forward to making. I shouldn't take it out on you."

"That's what friends are for, right? To be a shoulder and a sounding board?" He didn't sound upset. "Look, quit dreading that call and make it. Then call me back and we'll commiserate together."

Jean chuckled. "Or I may hand you another scoop. You never know."

"Now you have to call back. You can't leave me hanging like that. Go make your call."

Jean knew he was right. Still, punching in Hank's private number seemed to take forever.

"McCoy."

She took a breath. No turning back now. "It's Jean. I'll do it."

- X -

"Is this a private gym, or can anyone join in?"

"I could use the help spotting Peter," Scott said from where he stood behind the bench press in answer to Alex's question. "Since the Iceman seems to think the treadmill's more important than spotting."

"He can bench almost the world record even in normal form," Bobby said between breaths and in rhythm with his running. "He drops it, we have to get Jean or Rachel to lift it with TK. Why do you even bother lifting, Pete?"

"Because," Peter said as he lifted the weight once more, "it impresses pretty girls." He lowered the weight, pressed it up. "Especially if they sit on the bar while I do it."

"Something wrong, Alex?" Scott asked. Alex hadn't even quirked a lip at the byplay between the two younger X-Men. When they were younger, Alex had always been the first to join in the fun.

"I just need to burn off some frustration," Alex replied.

Peter racked the weights with a clang and sat up. "This is the place to do it."

He wiped down the bench and gestured for Alex to take his place. "I'll spot both of you," he said. "And I'll remove the extra weights."

Scott nodded and moved to the squat rack to start loading weights onto the bar. "Have to say I'm impressed, Alex. Not even here a full day, and you're already frustrated."

Alex grunted as he took the bar in his hands. "Lorna's here."

That explained everything, Scott thought, settled his shoulders under the bar, and moved into smooth squats. "Jean said she might need some psychic therapy because of what Frost did to her."

"And -- is that -- it?" Alex asked between lifts. "Just -- therapy -- and it's all -- forgiven?"

"Not at all," Scott said. "She's here partly for the therapy, and partly because the court remanded her to the X-Men's custody."

"Remanded her --?"

"They trust our security more than theirs," Scott said. "Her arraignment's in --"

_Incoming!_ Rachel's mental cry echoed in his mind, and he slammed the weights onto the rack.

_Link us,_ Scott responded instantly. _Including Alex._

_Report,_ he ordered when he felt the link going live.

_Drones,_ Logan's mental voice was terse. _I can hear a dozen motors. Maybe three quarters of a mile away. Two minutes, maybe._

_'Ro, I need a storm. High winds, lightning, anything you can do,_ Scott said. _Bring as many of them down as you can._

_On it,_ Ororo answered, though Scott felt her mentally wincing at the damage to the local weather patterns she'd have to cause to do it.

_Jean, Alex -- get Charles and the kids to the jet and evacuate. After Stryker's attack, we can't count on the tunnels._ He was already moving toward the elevators, Peter, Bobby, and Alex behind him. One of the benefits of the mindlink was that a full sense of what he meant went with the words, so Alex turned toward the hangar without needing to ask where it was. _Defensive maneuvers and powers only._

_'Ro, if you can get a break in the winds when we're ready to lift off, that would be good._ Jean's mental voice was calm, and Scott sensed the others steadying and calming in the link in response to her.

_Lorna as well,_ Charles said into the link. _This isn't her fight._

Scott acknowledged that and stepped into the elevator with Peter and Bobby. Whatever was coming, he'd face the attack head on.


	22. Chapter 22

Lorna saw the distracted expression on Xavier's face immediately. "What's going on?"

"We need to evacuate," Xavier said, refocusing on her and guiding his wheelchair toward the door.

"Evacuate? Why?" Lorna moved to follow him even as she asked.

"There are several drones approaching." He turned down the corridor. Children of various ages hurried past them, and Lorna saw a young woman with a white stripe in her hair herding more children -- students, presumably -- down the stairs ahead of them. "And since we were attacked here once before, Scott's taking no chances."

"Drones?" A young man paused. "I can help with drones, Professor."

Xavier nodded, and a moment later said, "Scott's coming off the elevator now, Jones. Talk to him."

Ahead of them, Lorna saw a section of paneled wall slide away. Scott emerged followed by one who had to be Colossus given his size, and another she didn't know.

The young man -- Jones -- fell into step with Scott. "Cyclops -- I can help. You know I can."

- X -

Scott took it in with a glance -- Jones, Lorna, Charles -- and made a snap decision. _Rachel, add Jones to the link._

Jones's wide-eyed expression matched his presence in the link. _Wow._

_Stick with Peter,_ Scott ordered, _and do as you're told._

"I can help, too."

Scott focused on Lorna. She looked determined, if scared. He felt the others' reactions -- especially Alex, who was less skilled than the others at mindlinking, and whose instant anger flooded the link. Logan and Jean immediately saw applications for Lorna's magnetic power, just as he had, but that wasn't the only issue here. In a heartbeat, he'd decided.

"Thanks, but no," he told her. She opened her mouth to argue, and he shook his head. "I don't know you, and I don't have time to learn whether I can trust you before those things arrive. Go."

_Five down,_Ororo reported. _And that big old oak by the front gate. I'm sorry._

_They're splitting off to circle the house._ Logan's mental report carried with it the image of what he saw. Of the seven remaining drones, three were heading for the back of the mansion, two toward the conservatory, and two toward the dining room windows.

Scott shoved Lorna toward the elevator, Charles rolled his chair after her. _Then we split up. Rachel, with me to the back. Bobby, Kitty, 'Ro, take the dining room. Peter, Logan, Jonesy, the conservatory. Bring as many down as you can, stay under cover._

He hadn't taken the time to grab a visor, but he didn't think he'd need fine control to blast these drones from the sky.

_Jean, how's the evacuation coming?_

_Orderly,_ she replied, _if not as quickly as we'd like. But everyone's on the lower level now._

_Good. They'll think twice about attacking Washington, so get to Bolling, call my father and Hank._ He reached out to their private bond and added, just for her, _Love you._

_Love you._ Her reply carried the sense of regret that she wasn't fighting by his side, but also the understanding that she did what was necessary.

_Take care of yourself._ He included their unborn child in that, and then had to shift his focus away from her, to Rachel as she fell into step with him and they approached the rear entrance.

- X -

Jean let her mind linger on the link with Scott just until she got the Blackbird's engines started. Then she had to focus on getting Charles safely into his seat. There was no time to allow him to do that himself, so she simply lifted him from the wheelchair and floated him into the seat behind the co-pilot. She sensed his dislike for what she'd done, but he didn't otherwise comment, and she grabbed his wheelchair to stow it for takeoff.

Marie moved between the benches, making sure all of the students were safely strapped in and speaking quietly to help soothe their fears. She might have chosen to leave the X-Men, Jean thought, but she was good with the children and Jean was grateful she'd stayed at the school.

Jean smiled at the girl sitting closest to the storage compartment. "Doing okay, Theresa?"

The girl managed a shaky smile and a nod, and Jean closed the compartment. _How are we doing?_ she sent to Alex, who was at the ramp.

_I've counted twenty-two students so far,_ he told her. She shouldn't be surprised that Scott's brother had adapted to telepathic communication so easily. _Four more, right?_

_And Lorna._ She glanced down the rows of students, double-checking that they were all securely strapped in, and remembered that once, a long time ago, she'd thought of being a flight attendant. She chuckled to herself, even as she felt Alex's anger at the mention of Lorna's name.

_Last four coming off the elevator now,_ Alex reported. _I don't see Lorna at all._

Jean cast her psychic sense wide and found Lorna stepping off the elevator on the upper level. _Careful,_she sent through the combat link. _Lorna's heading for the dining room._

_Evac anyway,_ Scott ordered. _Getting the kids out is more important. Bobby, Kitty, Ro._ Just listing their names carried with it the warning to be careful and alert.

- X -

Logan stared through the conservatory windows at the approaching drones. Each drone looked to be about six feet long and a foot in diameter, but they lacked the tail fins that would mark them as missiles.

Beside him, Peter had shifted to his armored form and stood between Jones and the windows. "Do you think they're explosive?"

"No idea," Logan replied. "About the only thing we can bet on is they're unmanned."

Jones studied the approaching drones. "They're self-contained units, but they're controlled remotely. I can override that --"

Logan waited, tense, while the kid he'd first seen changing television channels as fast as he could blink frowned at the drones. "Faster, kid."

Jones didn't answer, and Logan knew he should be more patient -- it was Jones' first time in a real battle, after all. When Stryker's troops had attacked, Jones had been one of the first to go down under a tranquilizer dart. And now Jones had come forward to help the X-Men.

"Gotcha." Over the roar of the winds outside and the hum of the drones' engines, even Logan barely heard Jones' whisper. But he saw the lead drone wobble in flight, then crash to the ground,

"Good job," Peter said, and from the corner of his eye, Logan caught Jones' grin. "Still two more out there, though."

"Working on it," Jones replied.

Logan hated waiting. Even now, with the battle joined, all he could do was wait for a target to present itself. _Yeah, you just miss the days of face-to-face combat._

The flicker of movement outside caught his eye. Jones's fallen drone had shattered on impact -- made of some heavy plastic, Logan guessed -- and now smaller machines rose from the wreckage and launched toward the glass walls.

"Incoming!" Logan dove for cover, not so much to avoid whatever was coming but to minimize his recovery time. Being dead and useless during a fight was the last thing he wanted to be.

_They're carrying smaller drones,_ he sent through the combat link even as he fell. He rolled into a crouch behind Ororo's desk just as he heard the windows shattering from impact. Across the room from him, Peter was still on his feet, but Jones now rested behind a potted tree. Not the best cover, Logan thought, but better than none.

_What are the smaller drones carrying?_ Scott asked.

_I'll find out,_ Peter sent, and lunged for a baby-drone. The baby-drone dodged out of the way and started spinning madly, the sound reminding Logan of a buzz saw.

Silvery flashes glinted in the light.

_Darts,_ he reported. _Goddamn darts._

Peter simply stood still in the center of the room, letting the needles bounce harmlessly off his metallic form. Logan recognized the tactic designed to draw the drones closer. One wandered a bit too close, and Peter snatched it from the air, twisted it into its component parts.

"I can --" Jones cut himself off with a startled yelp, and he pulled a needle-dart from his neck, another from his hand. He threw them down, then began again, "I can help with these, too."

"Do it fast," Peter said. "There are so many, I can't block them all."

Logan watched Jones, frowning. A double dose of tranquilizer darts should've knocked him out already. The truth dawned even as Jones started to frown.

_Those darts have the cure in 'em. Someone turned it into a weapon._

- X -

Lorna found the dining room easily, since she'd passed it on her way to Xavier's office. She recognized the dark-skinned woman with white hair -- Storm -- and given that the male in the room was covered in ice and still moving, she assumed that was Iceman. The younger, dark haired woman she didn't recognize, but was the one who spoke.

"What are you doing here?"

"I can help," Lorna said. "I know what those are."

"So do we," the girl replied. "And if you break them, they'll just spew daughter-drones."

"I'm not here to break them." Through the window, she saw the drones' erratic approach -- Storm's doing, no doubt.

"I can't get lightning easily," Storm was saying. "The winds are already causing havoc."

"Can you increase the water in the air?" Lorna asked.

"Why?"

"That will increase the electrical signature from whatever remote control units are inside them, and my magnetic power can track that back to its origin." Lorna already had called her power to command.

"Makes sense," the young woman said. "Electricity and magnetism are all part of the same spectrum."

"Why should we trust you?" Iceman demanded.

"You don't have a choice right now, do you?" Lorna shot back, her words punctuated by the crack of glass as the first drone crashed through the windows.

"No, I don't."

Storm frowned, and Lorna felt the air shifting, getting warmer and more humid. Lorna found a place against the wall, braced against the wind, and reached out with her power.

A drone crashed into the walnut-finished table and splintered, disgorging daughter drones just as the other woman had said. She raised a magnetic field around her body almost as an afterthought, but her main focus was on tracking the signals controlling the drones.

She hadn't been told all of the Hellfire Club's secrets, neither by them nor by her grandfather, but she knew enough that if she could get a decent reading from those signals, she might be able to determine their launch point.

Storm stood at the center of a small whirlwind, still trying to bring the drones down by sheer force. Lorna didn't think that would be much help, but she had to focus on her job, not on giving tactical information they might already have.

From the corner of her eye, she watched Iceman encase one drone and then another in thick layers of ice. The ice-coated drones fell to the floor with a solid clunk, but each of the mother drones spat almost a dozen daughters, and Iceman's power was too slow to handle them all before one of them got lucky.

The dark-haired young woman ran across Lorna's field of vision, leapt into the air, and batted at the drone closest to her. Lorna's eyes widened when she realized that her hand had gone through the drone. Now the drone wobbled in the air, the electrical patterns inside it disrupted, and fell.

So that was Kitty Pryde, a distracted part of Lorna's mind observed. And apparently her phasing ability had an unexpected side effect.

Lorna wrenched her focus back to the faint electronic signals. She had to close her eyes against the wind whipping in her face, spared a curse for her loose, flowing hairstyle, and reached out to the nearest drone.

The drones were mostly plastic and ceramic, judging by their almost invisible presence in her magnetic senses. But they still needed wires to conduct signals, and that was enough for her to lock onto and begin her trace.

There, she had the signal -- very faint, and maybe even from a satellite or cellular transmission. Faint, yes, but distinctive, and she reached out further, following the trail back to a larger connection -- probably where the mother drone had shattered -- then even further.

"Look out!" A hand grabbed her arm, and suddenly she was having trouble breathing. She opened her eyes and found herself staring into an angry Kitty Pryde's face. "Never close your eyes in combat. You damn near got yourself shot with a cure dart."

"Cure --?" Lorna felt the blood drain from her face. "No, that's not what it was supposed to be --"

"I don't give a damn if it was supposed to be a flying circus," Kitty snapped. "Either you focus or get out and let us do our job -- which is not protecting you."

Lorna nodded, and then Kitty was gone, and she could breathe again. Side effect of the phasing? Maybe -- but Kitty had reminded her that she had a job to do, and she gritted her teeth and began again.

- X -

_Those darts have the cure in 'em._

Logan's words echoed through Scott's mind, and he exchanged a grim look with his daughter.

"None of them get past us," he said, and she nodded.

"You first." The door swung open as she spoke.

Scott grinned and stepped outside, turning his power on and blasting two of the approaching drones. He'd have preferred to use the doorway for cover, but it was too narrow for both him and Rachel to fire from, and there were enough of the drones that at least one of them would've crashed through the window beside the door.

The impact from his blast sent one reeling backward into a third drone, and that impact cracked it open. Hamburger-shaped daughter drones exploded from the mother and spun faster than any top he'd ever seen. Metallic glints told him they'd already launched their first round of cure darts.

He blasted again, wishing he had the visor to focus the blast so he didn't cause quite so much collateral damage to the trees and shrubs on the ground. So far, at least he'd missed the fountain in the garden below.

_Got the one at ten o'clock._ Rachel sounded confident in his head, and he saw the drone make an unnatural ninety-degree turn, straight down. Wind rushing through the doorway masked the sound of the drone's impact, but he still saw the daughter-drones launching.

But Rachel had dashed toward the planter at the end of the rear porch, intending to use it for cover. The drones reacted to her movement, and Scott's innate geometric sense told him they were all turning to go after her.

Even telepathic communication was slower than instinct. Scott leapt forward, off the porch, and the drones shifted their attack toward him. Not that direction mattered so much as distance, given the machine-gun speed with which they fired their poisonous needles.

He dove into a forward roll, came up and whipped around, his power coming on even as he did, blasting most of the drones in front of him.

One drone hovered high, out of his blast radius, and zipped behind him. Before he could re-focus, he felt a half dozen pinprick impacts in his back, each hitting like a sledgehammer. He fell to his knees, groggy from the impact.

_DAD!_ Rachel's mental shout overwhelmed the combat link.

_It's okay,_ he sent to her -- or tried to. His thoughts were as fuzzy as his vision, and he blinked once, twice, trying to focus on the Blackbird soaring away.

Then his world went dark.

- X -

"Storm, fall back!" Iceman's shout echoed through the dining room. Lorna heard the anguish in his voice when he added, "We can't stop all of them. Get out!"

For a long moment, Storm didn't move. Then Kitty said, "We just lost Scott. We can't lose you, too. Fall back, or I'll phase you out."

They'd lost Scott? Lorna was confused for a moment, but as Storm backed toward the hallway, she knew. Scott had been hit by a cure dart.

A week ago, she would've been thrilled by the news that the man who'd killed her grandfather -- and it had been his plan, even if he'd had help in executing it -- had lost his powers forever. Now, she didn't know how to feel.

She did know that she couldn't allow the Hellfire Club to use these things indiscriminately -- and that meant she had to direct her power in ways she never had before, though her grandfather had told her it was possible.

She stepped forward, gathered as much as she could, and sent a magnetic pulse along the faint electrical trail. If her grandfather's theory were correct, that pulse should act almost like echo-location, and she'd be able to track it the way submarines tracked their enemies under water.

The stick in her forearm barely registered. All of her attention held the faint echo of the magnetic pulse. North.

She frowned as the echo faded. Why wasn't she sensing it anymore?

The needle embedded in her forearm held the answer.

- X -

"Dad!" Rachel's shout was an echo of her earlier mental scream as she watched him fall forward, saw the half-dozen darts sticking out of his back.

Through the combat link, she felt the anguish from the others, especially her mother. Her father didn't respond at all, and she realized that besides the cure serum, the darts were also loaded with significant tranquilizers -- he was unconscious, easy prey for more drones with God only knew what else loaded in them.

Her mother's grief flooded her, though the combat link itself was free of it -- just one of the risks of sharing a link with another telepath. Strangely, Logan's grief was nearly as strong, though his was tinged with anger and a desire for revenge.

Her own grief and anger sang in her blood, reinforced and strengthened by Logan's and her mother's, and the other X-Men's, and she let it swell, build to a crescendo, before releasing the fury of it.

Her telekinetic senses, sharpened by rage and grief, found all of the drones surrounding and inside the house. Easy enough to grab them all -- mother drones, daughter drones, all of them. She overrode their directional systems, yanked them all from their paths and assembled them in the back yard, high overhead.

Daughter drones fought to spit their crippling payloads, but she held the darts in place as well, and the entire collection resembled nothing so much as a jagged-edged ceramic meteor.

Teeth clenched, she stretched out her hand, and squeezed it into a tight fist. The ceramic drones shattered under telekinetic pressure, and she kept squeezing, forcing them together, her goal one compressed mass of junk.

_No._ Her mother's mental voice was steady, though still laced with anger and grief. _We need one of the daughters intact for analysis._ She didn't have to say that they'd have plenty of darts to analyze, thanks to the three who'd fallen under their assault.

Rachel felt her lip twisting into a snarl, but had to admit her mother's point. She allowed one of the daughter drones to escape her telekinetic grasp, and then the others were crushed in her psychic grip.

She let the bits of the drones fall, careful to keep a telekinetic shield over her head to prevent any accidental sticks from the falling darts, and dashed to her father's side.

His pulse was steady and even, and Rachel breathed a sigh of relief.

_They're all down._ Logan's voice in the link sounded grim. _Bring the jet home, and we'll assess the damage._


	23. Chapter 23

They're still not mine; I'm just borrowing them for a while.

X X X X X

Jean set the Blackbird down with less finesse than she usually had -- though she'd never match Scott's piloting skills, she could land better than a kid who'd just gotten his pilot's license.

"Go on," Alex told her from his place in the co-pilot's seat. "I can handle things here. Scott needs you."

Jean flashed him a quick smile, then rose to her feet while telekinetically activating the ramp controls. Moments later, she dashed down the ramp and across the hangar.

In the infirmary, three people lay on gurneys -- Scott, Jones, and Lorna. Love made her want to check Scott first, but even from the doorway, she could see a sheen of sweat on Lorna's skin that neither Scott nor Jones had, so she moved straight to Lorna's side. Logan and Rachel stood off to one side, and she sent a thought to them both to make sure to check Jones's and Scott's vital signs.

_I can hook them up to the machine,_ Rachel replied. _You taught me how._

Jean acknowledged Rachel's thought, pulled on sterile gloves, and carefully removed the two darts embedded in Lorna's arm, dropping them on a tray next to Lorna's bed.

"Sorry I'm late," Terry, the school nurse, said, as he ran into the room. His own mutation was a low-level empathic response that allowed him to ease hurts and pain. "Got caught with a couple of panicky kids."

"I need a chemical analysis of those," Jean nodded at the darts. "Everything that was in them. Be careful, they held the suppression serum."

Terry grimaced. "On it."

"Get Kitty to help if you need it," Jean told him. She'd been gathering IV supplies and other equipment telekinetically while she talked. She and Terry had worked together enough that he knew the paths the equipment would likely take and dodged them easily.

Minutes later, she'd started the IV drip. Lorna's fever wasn't high enough for her to do more than monitor it, so she levitated a blood draw kit from its place on a shelf over to her working tray. Once she'd drawn a blood sample, she floated it across the room and into the refrigerator. Terry would get it when he was ready.

Movement from the next bed made her turn to Jones. He was looking around the room, clearly disoriented. His bleary gaze focused on her.

"Dr. Grey? Did we win?"

"The drones are destroyed," she told him, unwilling to call what had happened earlier a win.

"Good," Jones said. His voice still slurred, but Jean felt him coming more alert with every passing moment. "So why'm I here?" He frowned, and then said, "Oh, I remember, I got hit by a tranquilizer dart."

Jean pulled a blood draw kit from a drawer near the bed. "It wasn't just a tranquilizer," she said quietly.

"It wasn't? What was it?"

"It had the cure serum in it."

"Cure--?" Jones started and turned to focus on the monitor displaying his vital signs. Jean saw him blink once, twice, then squeeze his eyes shut in an obvious attempt not to cry.

She let him lie there while she wrapped the tourniquet around his arm and drew a vial of blood. "I don't know what it's done to you, yet," she told him. "I'll find out, if I can. And if there's any way to reverse it, I'll tell you."

Jones nodded but didn't look at her. Jean squeezed his arm once she'd put the bandage on it, then summoned Rachel with a glance. "Put this in the fridge, will you?"

Rachel nodded, understanding what Jean hadn't said. She would not be so tactless as to use her power the moment Jones had learned his was gone.

"Feeling okay otherwise?" Jean asked. His vital signs were normal -- normal adjusted for having received a severe shock, she amended -- but vital signs didn't tell her everything.

"For someone who doesn't have his power anymore, I'm just peachy."

Jean winced at the venom in Jones' tone, but could only pat his shoulder. "You probably should stay here a bit longer, until the drug wears out of your system."

He didn't respond, and after a moment, Jean moved to Scott's side.

Lorna had been hit with two darts, Jones with one. Six protruded from Scott's body.

With grim focus, she removed each dart and set it aside. He'd spent so many years wishing he had control of his power, and then he'd finally gotten it. To be able to enjoy it only a few weeks before having the power completely stolen from him -- it wasn't fair.

And if he were awake, he'd be reminding her that life wasn't fair, and expecting it to be fair was a waste of effort. His vitals were stable, so there was nothing she could do but make him comfortable and wait for the tranquilizers to wear off.

Jean had barely stepped back from his bedside when Rachel threw herself into her arms. "I'm so sorry, I'm sorry."

Jean held her tightly, only now letting her own grief show. She had no words of comfort yet, but holding her daughter was a comfort in itself.

"I picked up something just before he passed out," Rachel gasped between sobs. "He said -- I thought he said -- it's okay. How can it be okay?"

"He's alive," Jean said. She'd thought he was dead once, and as bad as this was, it wasn't nearly as bad as the emptiness she'd felt when she'd thought he was dead.

Logan's arms went around both of them. "He's alive. He's still the best tactician I've ever seen. He saved the people he loves the most in the world. Yeah. It's okay."

- X -

Jones didn't want to stay in the infirmary once Jean had declared him fit -- and who could blame him, Logan thought -- so Logan took the opportunity to walk with Jones, leaving Rachel and Jean alone with Scott.

Jones didn't say anything as they walked, which was probably just as well, Logan decided. He had no idea what he'd say even if the kid did want to talk. When Jones turned toward his room, Logan put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed.

Jones looked up at him, and Logan had no words. Jones just nodded, then turned toward his room.

Logan glanced around the ground floor. Someone had gotten the students busy cleaning up broken glass and other debris from the attack. Logan felt his lips tightening into a frown. They shouldn't be here, shouldn't stay in what was obviously a target zone, just waiting for another attack.

Logically, he knew the resources here -- especially Cerebro -- were the best they'd find anywhere, but those resources were team resources, not school resources.

"How are they?" Logan turned at Ororo's question. He must be distracted if he hadn't sensed her approach.

"Jeannie thinks Scott will be fine, once the sedative wears off. Except the power thing. Lorna's having some kind of reaction to it. Jonesy --" Logan shrugged. "Healthy, but had his power stolen, so pissed."

"I knew this would happen," Ororo said. "The X-Men going public put the kids at risk."

Logan contained an angry growl with effort. "The X-Men weren't public when Stryker attacked. But now ain't the time."

"If not now, when?" Ororo took two quick steps and stood in front of him, clearly challenging. "You're in charge of the team, now. You have to make the decisions."

Her words stopped him short. He'd thought -- assumed -- that Scott would still be in charge, powers or no -- his tactical mind was their greatest asset. But that assumed that a powerless Scott would want to remain with the X-Men. It also overlooked the fact that even if he did, at the moment he was lying unconscious in the infirmary.

"You askin' to rejoin the team?"

Ororo blinked, the question catching her off guard. "Asking? No. But if I have to --"

Logan shook his head. "I don't want anyone on the team who's only half-committed to it. See to the kids, 'Ro. I'll handle the team."

He pushed past her without waiting for her response. He needed to talk to Xavier, fast.

- X -

Alex paused in the doorway to the infirmary. Scott and Lorna both lay on beds, monitors beeping softly as they tracked pulse, respiration, and blood pressure.

"Hi, Alex."

He turned at Jean's quiet voice, blinked in surprise. The vibrant, vivacious woman he'd met was gone. In her place stood a woman who looked worn out.

"It's that bad, then?" he asked.

"Define 'bad.'" It might have been a joke, but her heart clearly wasn't in it. "They were hit with darts containing both a sedative and a dose of the suppression serum. Lorna's having some kind of allergic reaction, but should pull through."

"Suppression serum?"

"You heard it called the cure."

Alex went cold. "Oh, no."

"If Jones is any indication, they should be perfectly healthy. Powerless, but healthy."

Alex stood with her in silence for a moment, the only comfort he could offer. Then, "You look exhausted."

She snorted a chuckle. "Summers charm? What Summers charm?"

"I'd never try to charm my brother's fiancée," he replied. "Family courtesy."

That made her laugh, and some of the lines of strain around her eyes eased.

"Have you taken a break?" She didn't answer, which was answer enough. "Go on, get some coffee. Or tea. Or whatever. I'll stay with them while you do."

She looked torn, and he gently nudged her toward the door. "You know you need to."

"Okay. Shout in your head if anything happens." But she moved slowly toward the door, her gaze fixed on Scott the whole time.

Alex watched her go, just to be certain that she did go. Then he crossed to his brother's side. "Hope you know how much she loves you," he murmured.

"Who?" The voice was faint, and a bit slurred, but he recognized it immediately, and turned to face Lorna.

She lay on the bed, wan and still, but her gaze was sharp. He'd thought he and Lorna had that kind of love, but now he had only one question.

"Was it all a lie?"

"Was what a lie? How I feel about you? No, it wasn't a lie."

"Wasn't it?" He didn't want to get any closer to her, despite the pleading in her eyes.

"No, it wasn't."

"You were willing to kill me to get back at my brother, and you expect me to believe how you felt -- how I thought you felt -- about me wasn't a lie." His voice shook, and he didn't try to control it.

"It wasn't -- I mean, it didn't start out that way." She looked both earnest and desperate.

"But it became a lie -- when? When your precious grandfather chose to murder a million people?" Alex snarled at her. "Or maybe it was when, with the sanction and backing of the President, Scott and the X-Men brought him to justice for that crime."

"How I feel about you isn't a lie. It's not. I swear."

"You just care more for what he wanted than you do for me. Okay, I get it." Jean had said to shout in his head, so he thought her name as hard as he could.

"That's not true!"

"Isn't it?" Alex sighed, even as he felt Jean's telepathic acknowledgment of his call and that she was on her way back to the infirmary. "I don't even know whether I want to believe you, Lor. Not anymore."

He turned toward the door.

"Where are you going?" Lorna sounded lost.

Alex didn't look back. "I'm going to fight the bad guys."

"But -- what about me?"

Now he did look over his shoulder. "You need to remember who the bad guys are."


	24. Chapter 24

Jean had picked up residual anger from Alex as he passed her in the hall outside the infirmary, but he only said, "Lorna's awake," before continuing on his way.

That news had her hurrying inside for a quick check-up of Lorna, who had tears on her cheeks.

"Alex told me you're awake. How are you feeling?"

"How should I be feeling?" Lorna's voice was rough, and Jean tightened her shields. She had no desire to listen in on this woman's love troubles -- especially not with her own love lying unconscious and powerless in a bed not ten feet away.

"I can only treat you in response to how you do feel." Okay, her bedside manner with this woman was shot. Jean glanced at the monitors. Lorna's pulse, respiration, and blood pressure were steady and within normal limits, so she grabbed a thermometer and held it out. Lorna looked at it dubiously, then opened her mouth so Jean could slip the instrument under her tongue.

Lorna's temperature read a couple of degrees above normal, and Jean noted that on Lorna's chart, then regarded the woman lying on the bed. "Does anything hurt? Is your vision clear?"

Lorna didn't respond, and after a moment, Jean turned to Scott. Though his vitals had remained steady for the last hour, she still checked them, almost compulsively, and ran a hand over his forehead. Then she frowned and glanced at his monitor.

His temperature read the same as Lorna's. She hadn't really noticed that before, because his temperature had always been a few degrees warmer than most people because of his power. But if he were powerless, shouldn't his temperature have dropped, too?

She heard Lorna's gasp when she levitated a blood draw kit from its shelf into her hand, and moments later carried the vial of Scott's blood into the lab where Terry was working. Terry only grunted acknowledgement when she asked him to add that sample to his analysis, obviously deep in his work, so she retreated to her office to try to nap in her chair. If Lorna had still been asleep, she would've napped on the bed next to Scott, but it didn't feel right to do that now.

But the chair was almost as old a friend as the beds, and she stretched out in a position long familiar to her, though less so since she and Scott had gotten together.

Her eyes closed, and she worked through progressive muscle relaxation while counting backward from a hundred. She'd perfected the technique during her internship and residency when she'd had to learn to relax and sleep quickly. Catnaps were the rule, not the exception.

She'd just gotten to seventy-five and her shoulders when the phone on her desk rang. Odd, she thought even as she snapped to full alertness. Most people called her cell.

"Jean Grey," she said into the phone.

"Jean, it's Hank. Are you free?"

"For the moment," she said, "but I have two patients."

"I understand. Will you put on the video conference? I'm with President McKenna, and we wanted to discuss your nomination."

So this was the first test, Jean thought with wry amusement. See how she reacted to a sudden important phone call. She reached out to activate the video conferencing feature.

"As long as you don't mind seeing a fairly tired doctor," she said as the screen on the opposite wall came to life. They were in a conference room, she guessed, and Hank smiled at her.

"Tired, perhaps, but always beautiful, Jean."

"You're just flattering me so I won't bug you about your ribs," she teased back. Then she focused on the president. "Hello, Mr. President."

"Hello, Dr. Grey." He gave her a smile that was meant to be charming, but Jean couldn't help remembering that he'd authorized the use of suppression-serum weapons against the mutants holding California -- the same weapons that had just been used against the X-Men. "It's a pleasure to meet you, even if over the phone. Hank tells me you'd be willing to take over once he's confirmed as ambassador to the United Nations."

"I'm astonished that you'd consider me for the job," she said. "But I've thought it over and yes, I'm willing to do it."

"Excellent," McKenna said. "It's an awkward time, with the trials coming up for Magneto's people. We have no protocols in place to handle this situation."

"Nor others," Jean said. "How should we react if, for example, a telepath or empath says, 'That man's planning to kill you'? How do you cross-examine that in court?"

"You have been thinking about this," McKenna sounded approving. From Hank's expression, Jean guessed he hadn't told the president she was a telepath.

"I can't avoid it, Mr. President. But it's precisely that kind of situation that makes me very wary of enacting protocols without thinking them through first. I realize that we have to balance the need for effective protocols with their Constitutional right to a fair and speedy trial, but I don't want the need for speed to outweigh the need for fairness."

"Nor do I, Dr. Grey. As someone told me recently, the surest way to make mutants into criminals is to give them a reason to be criminals."

"No, Mr. President," Jean said. "The surest way to make us criminals is to pass the Registration Act or similar legislation. You're talking about not giving us a reason to rebel, which is not the same thing."

She watched Hank wince at her bluntness, but she held the president's gaze through the camera.

"You're right," he said after a moment, then leaned back in his chair, though she had the sense that he wasn't relaxed in any way. "When Senator Kelly proposed the Registration Act, he did so because he was afraid. And what Magneto did in California gave us all reason to fear mutants."

"Do you think we didn't fear Magneto, too?" Jean asked. "We did. We feared him because he was what he was -- a power-hungry, sociopathic, egotistical bully."

"Who had the power to do what he wanted," McKenna said.

"With all due respect, Mr. President, Hitler managed far worse, and he wasn't a mutant."

"Touche," the president smiled, and Jean barely heard Hank's muttered, "Godwin's Law."

"I could've used other examples," she continued, with a nod of acknowledgment at Hank, "but the principle is the same, nonetheless. We don't need to fear mutants because they are mutants. We need to fear some people for the kind of people they are."

"And what do we do about people like Magneto?" McKenna asked.

Jean blinked at him, certain her surprise showed on her face. "I thought you already knew that, sir. You make sure people who have the power to stop him, people like the X-Men, stand ready to help you." She paused, then added, very deliberately, "Enacting stupid laws like the Registration Act isn't a way to ensure that readiness."

McKenna chuckled and looked at Hank. "She sounds just like you and Summers."

"That's no surprise, Mr. President, considering that the three of us used to sit around talking about a brighter future."

Jean leaned forward, pressing her point. "Do you honestly think that Magneto would've bothered to register if the Act had passed? If he didn't, how would you make him? All that kind of law does is alienate good people -- the good people you want at your side to stop the Magnetos of the world."

The door to her office slammed open.

"Dr. Grey," Terry said, "you have to see this!" Then Terry realized she was on the phone. "Sorry," he added. "But this is important."

Jean smiled at the two men on the conference screen. "I'm sorry, Mr. President, but until I'm confirmed, you'll understand that my patients have to come first."

"Of course," McKenna said. "We won't keep you."

"I'll call you later to schedule a more formal meeting, Jean," Hank said.

"Looking forward to it," Jean said, and cut the connection. She turned to Terry. "I hope I just hung up on the president for a good reason."

Terry paled. "The president?"

"What's so important?" Jean held out her hand for the sheaf of papers he carried.

"The results of Scott's blood work." Terry handed the papers over. "The suppression serum hasn't affected him."

"What?" Jean paged through the results. "You checked it?"

"Three times before I came in here," Terry said. "It worked on Jonesy and the Dane woman, but not on him. I don't know why."

"It should've worked on him, too," she murmured as she read over the lab results. "It affects the dominant X-gene, not -- oh, my God."

"What?"

"His X-gene was already affected," Jean said. "The control serum I gave him. Get a sample of that, and see what it does to the suppression serum."

Terry stared at her for a moment, then she felt his understanding and he dashed from her office.

All thoughts of the nap she'd originally intended to take vanished, and she fought to contain her excitement. If they'd just discovered a vaccine for the suppression serum, maybe there was hope for Lorna and Jonesy.

- X -

"You fixed Cerebro, right?" Logan asked Charles.

The other man looked up from where he sat at his computer. "I did."

"Good. We need to use it to find Sebastian Shaw."

"I've tried to find the Hellfire Club before without success," Xavier said. "What makes you think I can succeed in finding Sebastian Shaw now?"

Logan sat on the arm of a chair. "His firm's building robots like those drones that attacked us earlier. He claims they're just to be used to monitor criminal mutants, but after the attack today, we can be pretty sure he's got a broader use in mind."

"But you have no proof."

"Christ, you sound like the furball." Logan rose to his feet. "No, I don't have proof that will stand up in court, but if we wait until we do have that proof, somebody will be dead, not just powerless."

"You still assume I can find him."

"I think you can if you look hard enough."

Xavier slowly closed his laptop. "Just what are you implying?"

"You said you couldn't find them before. Why not?"

"There are things that can block my ability. Erik's helmet, for one."

"Yeah, well, from what we know, he wasn't exactly friendly with the rest of the Club, so they probably don't have those. What else?"

Xavier looked uncomfortable. "Perhaps another telepath --"

"You're the strongest we know of. Shouldn't you be able to tell if someone else is blocking you?" Logan took two steps toward Xavier, intentionally looming over the other man just a bit. "Look harder this time, Professor."

Logan turned and strode from the room, almost bumping into Scott's brother just outside.

"Sorry," Alex said. "Ororo told me you were heading this way."

"You need something?" Logan watched Xavier continue to the elevator downstairs.

"Scott said you're his second."

"Yeah, so?" Logan focused on him.

"So," Alex chose his words carefully, "you might need some more firepower when you go after whoever did this."

"You think you've got it?"

"I know I do. And I know how to take orders." He paused, then added, "I still don't want to be an X-Man full time, but I will help you get past the immediate problems with Scott gone."

"Don't count me out yet, Alex."

Logan stared over Alex's shoulder as the other man whirled to face Scott. "Should you be out of bed?" Alex demanded.

"No time for shoulds," Scott replied. "We have a job to do and need to get to it."

Logan regarded him dubiously. "Pretty cocky for a man who got shot with cure darts a few hours ago."

Scott grinned. "I'd go a round or two in the Danger Room with you, but we don't have time. We need to find Shaw and deal with him."

"Danger Room?" Alex asked at the same time Logan said, "Chuck's looking for Shaw now."

Then what Scott said registered. "You think you can handle the DR now?"

Scott only grinned. "You said Charles is tracking Shaw?" At Logan's nod, he added, "Then I need to call Dad."

"Dad?" Alex sounded puzzled. "Why Dad?"

"He's our liaison to the government," Scott told him. "And I'm about to bend a ton of government regs."

"Better to get forgiveness than permission," Logan said.

"Not from Dad," both Summers men echoed, and Logan raised an eyebrow.

"And get the team ready," Scott told Logan. "When Charles finds him, we're going hunting."

- X -

"You take this very seriously, don't you?" Alex asked. "A war room that you call a war room and everything."

Scott glanced over his shoulder at his brother. "Good thing we do, given people like Magneto."

"I wasn't complaining, just making an observation." Alex paced the room, studying the holographic projection table and the various monitors surrounding it. "Maybe it hasn't all sunk in yet."

"Do you still want to come with us?" Scott rested a hip on the table. "Since I'm not out of commission anymore?"

"Yeah, I do." Alex looked surprised that he'd said it. "But if you think I should stay behind, then I will."

"I'm concerned about you joining us," Scott admitted. "I've been training with the team -- honest to God training -- for months. I know them, how they'll react. I like to think I know how you'll react, but I don't, and I don't have time to train with you to find out."

Alex looked thoughtful, and Scott let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Alex was a scientist and had been analytical even as a child, but that didn't mean that he could be analytical in all situations.

"Valid concern," Alex said finally. "And you're right, I should stay behind."

"I didn't say that," Scott said.

Now Alex looked confused. "You didn't? What was all that mess about not having time to train?"

"Simple truth. But Shaw and his people are prepared for us. They don't know about Rachel, but Rachel's powers mirror Jean's, so they're still prepared for her. They can't be prepared for you, can they?"

"Lorna doesn't know I'm a mutant, so how could they?"

"Have you met any of them?" Scott asked. "They have a telepath, after all."

"None that she's introduced as members. And I don't think she's known them very long, actually, just since the thing with Magneto."

Before Scott could answer, the wall monitor chimed to indicate an incoming call. "Answer," he said and turned to face it.

"I was in with the Joint Chiefs when you called," his father said when the image resolved on the screen. Then he blinked. "Alex?"

"Hi, Dad." Alex came up to stand beside Scott.

Scott watched his father's eyes narrow, recognized that calculating expression, and chose to wait it out rather than press ahead.

"I'm a mutant, too." Alex apparently hadn't learned the same patience he had.

"And an X-Man?" There was no censure in the general's tone, merely curiosity.

"Ad hoc," Scott said. "For one mission. Which is what I'm calling about."

"What mission?" And their father was suddenly all business. "I haven't heard about anything strange."

"The school was attacked yesterday," Scott said. "Not by a rogue government agent this time, which is at least a change of pace."

"Ha very ha," Summers said. "Who, then?"

"A group of people -- at least some of them mutants -- calling themselves the Hellfire Club. Led by a man named Sebastian Shaw."

The name made his father's eyebrows rise. "Sebastian Shaw. As in Shaw Industries' Sebastian Shaw?"

"The same."

"You do know how to pick enemies." His father sounded rueful. Then, "You have proof?"

"Enough for us. I'll transmit the data we have --" he broke off as the door opened and the rest of the team filed in. "Correction, Kitty will transmit the data we have now."

He tossed a thumb drive to Kitty. "Pixel," she said, and went to work at a computer terminal along one wall."

_Pixel?_ Scott shrugged mentally and turned back to his father. "I thought you should know before we left."

"Informing your liaison is a good thing," Summers agreed. "If only so I can get the popcorn ready. Shouldn't you get a warrant?"

"We're not law enforcement officers," Scott said. "We're more like the National Guard. But we can't sit around and let ourselves be targets without striking back."

"I don't think you're wrong," his father said. "But someone's going to raise that objection."

"Someone can volunteer to be the target next time and then raise that objection," Scott countered.

"I got your data feed," his father said. "When are you planning to leave?"

"Soon as we get a fix on Shaw."

"Do I want to know how you're going to do that?"

"Classified." He wasn't going to give up Cerebro even to his father. Scott had no doubt of his father's love, not anymore, but he wasn't certain whether his father's loyalty to family would outweigh loyalty to country.

"Fair enough." The response surprised Scott, and he fought to keep his expression steady. "Call back before you leave."

"Will do."

"Take care." His father's glance through the monitor included not just himself and Alex, but the entire team, and Scott waited for their acknowledgments before ending the call.

Scott turned away from the screen to face the assembled team. It felt odd not to have Jean with them, but he knew he'd made the right decision in taking her off the active duty list. "All right," he said, though he already had their attention. "I'm not going to leave the school undefended after that attack. Ororo's here, but I want one more. Bobby, you're elected."

"Why me?" Bobby asked. "And what about Dr. Grey? She's not here for the briefing. Why not leave her behind?"

"Because I said so," Scott told him, his voice firm and steady, though he fought a grin when he saw Logan glaring at Bobby behind the Iceman's back. "Jean's off the active duty roster due to pregnancy. If there is an incident while the team's away, I'd better not hear that she had to fight unless you're down. Is that clear?"

He saw Bobby swallow. "Yessir."

Scott focused on the rest of the team. "Kitty, when we have a location, I want you to dig up everything you can on the location, the surrounding area, all of it. Let's not go in blind."

"On it," she said from where she sat at the computer terminal.

"So the team is me, Kitty, Logan, Peter, Rachel, and Alex."

"Alex?" Logan said. "Why not leave him to guard the school and take Bobby with the team?"

"We have to assume that they're expecting us," Scott said. "That between their telepath and whatever Lorna may have told them, they know all about our powers and are prepared to counter them. They don't know about Alex. They can't, because Lorna didn't. Dad didn't. He's our wild card."

"At least you didn't call me the joker in a game where joker's wild," Alex quipped, and the rest of the team chuckled.

"Why state the obvious?" Scott ducked as Alex took a mock swing at him. Then he was back to business. "We know they have a telepath, and we know they have Fitzroy who can stop time. Jean killed one. I saw five others, not counting Lorna. We have to assume that they're all mutants or have weapons designed to stop mutants."

"They are mutants," Rachel said. "I picked up that much from Trev -- Fitzroy. Besides the telepath Frost, Shaw's very strong, and Leland has some kind of mass adjustment power."

Memory clicked. "He can increase it, at least," Scott said. "At one point when I was talking to them, I couldn't move my hands. They felt heavy."

The others absorbed that, and Rachel continued, "One of them -- von Roehm, his name is -- can change shape."

"Werewolf?" Peter asked.

"Something like that," Rachel replied. "Da Costa can fire some kind of solar blasts, and Reeva Payge has some kind of sonic disruption ability. I'm sorry I didn't get more details."

"That's more than we had," Scott said. "Good work."

"I'll see if Lorna knows anything else," Alex said quietly.

"Thanks," Scott said. It wasn't enough, he thought, to encompass what he knew of his brother's relationship with Lorna, but it was all he had.

Alex nodded, and Scott refocused on the team. "All of you need to report to the infirmary before we leave." A sea of puzzled expressions met that order, and he added, "I want your word that what I'm about to tell you doesn't leave this room. Don't even tell Dad, Alex."

Alex gave a low whistle. "That sounds ominous."

"It is. Your word?" He met each of their gazes with his own sober one. Each one nodded in turn, even Alex. "All right. You all know I was hit by several cure darts in the attack on the school."

"Yeah," Logan said. "Makes me wonder why you're coming on this mission."

"This is why." Scott focused on Logan, turned his power on low, and had the satisfaction of watching the Wolverine jump in surprise.

Rachel leapt toward him, and he closed his eyes before she might get caught by the edge of his blast. She threw her arms around him as the room erupted in questions.

He hugged her. Addressing the team, he said, "The control serum Jean gave me acted as a vaccine against the cure."

"So why keep it a secret?" Peter asked. "Isn't that good news?"

"It's very good news," Rachel declared. Then she frowned at Scott. "Will it reverse the cure?"

"Ask your mother," Scott said, and it still felt strangely good to say that. "She'll be running tests to determine that, but synthesizing enough of the control serum to vaccinate all of us took precedence."

Rachel nodded and stepped back. Scott noticed the somewhat distant look in her eyes and guessed that she was telepathically speaking with Jean.

"As to why it's secret," he said, his tone deliberately grim, "it's very simple." He had their attention, even Rachel's. "As long as people think the cure works on us, they'll use cure weapons."

"That's a good thing?" Bobby asked.

"If they know the cure doesn't work, they won't necessarily try for capture or contain. They'll just shoot to kill."


	25. Chapter 25

"Has Dad seen this?"

"No, he saw the better jet we had." Scott grinned over his shoulder at his brother, who sat behind him in the Blackbird. Logan had taken the co-pilot's seat, as the one who'd had the most hours in a cockpit since they'd begun training the newer X-Men. Rachel sat behind Logan, and Kitty behind her. Peter's bulk loomed behind Alex.

"Better? Had? What happened?"

"We had two jets, this one and the newer one. Magneto destroyed the newer one."

"Peeled it like a banana," Logan added. Then he looked sideways at Scott. "Are we going to get another one?"

Scott grimaced. "Eventually. Budget constraints."

"If you're working with Dad, he could probably get some federal funds allocated for it."

Scott glanced back at Alex again. "I'm not sure I want to be that beholden to the government."

"When did you get to be an anarchist?" Alex grinned.

"I'm not an anarchist." Scott turned his attention forward. They would be over the Hellfire Club's headquarters in just a few minutes, and he'd need to focus on landing. "I just realize that they'd love to control me, and anyone like me. It makes me leery of accepting anything from them."

"Beware Greeks bearing gifts?" Rachel asked, and Scott chuckled.

"Something like that. We --" A vibration rumbled through the plane, and Scott's attention narrowed to the instrumentation before him.

The engine indicator system didn't register anything unusual -- air flow, fuel, and electrical system all read normal. But the vibration only got worse.

"Damn," Logan muttered beside him.

"Yeah," Scott said. "This feels -- weird. And the instruments read fine."

"No, the noise."

"What noise?"

"High-pitched, like a combination of a scream and a whine."

Four sharp cracks sounded in the cabin.

"What was that?" Scott demanded as he fought to hold the Blackbird steady against the shimmy that rocked it.

"Safety harnesses just snapped." Shock rang in Peter's voice.

"What could do that?" Alex asked.

"Don't know," Logan said, even as Kitty said, "Theresa could."

"Who?"

"Theresa Rourke. She has a sonic scream, and different pitches can shatter different things -- glass, metal, plastic. We set up an experiment for her science class once." Kitty sounded remarkably calm.

Scott checked the heads-up display again. The MCP readouts told him that their speed had decreased a bit, but their altitude was holding steady.

"I'm going to start bringing us down. I don't trust this vibration," he added, raising his voice to be heard over the rattling. "Especially since they have a sonic disruptor."

- X -

Her father was trying to sound calm and in control -- and succeeding reasonably well, Rachel had to admit -- but she felt terror leeching through his mental shields. Whatever this vibration was, he didn't recognize it. Worse, he didn't know what to do about it. He'd never say it aloud, but he thought they were going to die.

An explosion echoed inside, and the Blackbird dipped sharply starboard.

The lurch bounced Rachel out of her seat, even as Logan reported, "Starboard engine's gone."

Rachel barely twisted her body to avoid slamming her head straight into the ceiling, but that meant her shoulder struck sharply and she cried out as she fell -- fell being such a relative thing -- down.

She saw Peter's armored form beneath her. He must've transformed as a protective measure, but now she rushed toward an indestructible steel lump. He looked up, and she felt his surprise, heard his thought that he had to return to human form -- but it was too late. Her head cracked against his armored one, and her vision swam.

Then she felt his arms around her, holding her in place. "I'm sorry. I didn't transform back in time."

She mumbled something, or thought she did, and hoped her blurry vision didn't mean she'd done permanent damage in the fall. Another shriek of metal made her wince, and then the angle shifted, and she knew they were no longer flying, but plummeting to earth.

"Rachel."

Her father's voice, firm but insistent. She'd known him less than a month, and already she knew that tone, the one that wouldn't allow her to give in to pain and the unconsciousness that teased at her awareness, seductive and inviting.

"Rachel." Sharper, his command voice cut through her wandering thoughts.

"What?" Her response was automatic, reflexive.

"You have to help," he said. "I need you to pull us up. Pull the nose up, get us to forty-five degrees above horizontal."

It was so hard to concentrate. What did forty-five degrees mean, anyway?

It didn't matter. Up. She had to think up, no matter how much it hurt or how hard it was. But she first had to grab the front end of the Blackbird. At least she could see that, sort of, through the cockpit.

When she had a solid telekinetic grip on it, she concentrated on lifting it, changing its angle. Pain throbbed along the right side of her head, pulsing in time with her heartbeat and making her eyes water.

_C'mon, Rachel, you can do this. This is easier than watching people you love killed before your eyes. That was soul pain. This just hurts._

"Good." Her father's voice barely registered. "That's ten degrees… you're getting there, a bit more."

More? He needed more? She felt like she was straining her power to its limit, even though she knew she'd done harder things before.

But not when her head felt like it was cracking wide open.

_Rae._

It was the barest mental touch of Logan's voice, but it held his confidence in her, his absolute certainty that she could save them -- no, that she would save them.

That certainty steadied her, and she felt her power surrounding the entire jet, not just the nose. She pressed down on the tail as well as up on the nose, and felt the Blackbird moving. The tail dipped, the nose rose.

"Crash positions, everyone," her father said. "It's going to be a bumpy landing."

- X -

It would be a hell of a thing, Alex thought, if he died before he even got to fire a salvo at the bad guys.

Sure, Scott sounded calm, but Alex had spent enough time listening to their father's stories to know that in a situation like this, it wasn't a sure thing until they stood with both feet on the ground.

Something brushed at his arm, and he turned in his seat enough to see the dark-haired girl -- Kitty -- leaning forward across the aisle, trying to touch him. He understood the need for comfort, and Peter had his hands full, very literally, with Rachel.

So he reached backward, offered her his hand. Her small one slipped into his, and he squeezed tightly. They were in this together.

"Take a deep breath," Kitty said. He frowned, but she squeezed his hand sharply for emphasis. "Now."

Supposing it didn't make much difference whether he held his breath or not, he complied.

Then the Blackbird hit, bounced, skittered along the ground, with shrieks of metal and groaning of engines, and Alex felt his teeth snapping together, hard. His jaw would hurt for days.

And then the plane was stopped, and suddenly, he was outside, and he tried to breathe but couldn't.

Panic hit him, momentarily. Why couldn't he breathe? What good was being outside the jet if he couldn't breathe?

Kitty dropped his hand -- how had she managed to hold onto it so long? -- and he sucked in air.

"Be right back," she said, and then ran forward and through the bulkhead into the Blackbird.

With a flash of certainty, Alex understood. She'd kept them intangible during the crash -- saved both their lives by doing it. _So much for offering comfort,_ he thought ruefully.

But there was no time for that now, not when she might be bringing injured people out for treatment. He looked around. The Blackbird had knocked down trees and gouged the earth into a long rut as it bounced and skittered to a stop, but Alex didn't notice any fuel or other fluids leaking at first glance. Quickly, he kicked some of the debris out of the way to at least offer any injured a smooth spot to lie.

It surprised him to see Peter stepping through the wall of the Blackbird, Rachel in his arms. Then Alex saw Kitty behind him, her hand on Peter's arm. She'd apparently phased all three of them.

Rachel didn't protest as Peter placed her gently on the ground where Alex indicated. Before Peter could rise, Kitty had emerged with Scott and Logan. Logan went straight to Rachel's side and knelt beside her.

"No leaks or spills," Alex told Scott. His brother nodded, and only then went to check on Rachel.

- X -

Scott knelt beside Logan. "How is she?"

He was surprised his voice came out reasonably calm. Then again, that's why he was the commander. He could stay focused and make decisions under pressure, even now, when his daughter rested against Peter's chest, a bruise the size of his fist growing on her forehead.

"Dislocated shoulder. But not for long." Logan made a quick move, and Rachel cried out. "Try flexing it, Rae. Easy."

"I think that's in." Her words slurred, and she blinked blearily at Logan. "Glad you were there."

Logan shrugged. "Just a shoulder reduction. Anyone could do it."

"No. In the jet. In my mind."

Now Logan frowned. "I wasn't in your mind."

_Jean?_ Scott shifted so that he knelt in front of Rachel.

_Now you talk to me,_ she said. _I felt you certain you were going to die, and not a word of goodbye._

He sensed that she was more amused than angry -- the two emotions were neck and neck, so he could be wrong -- and let her feel his embarrassment. _I'll apologize profusely when I get back. Right now, I need your help. Rachel's hurt._

_Let me look through your eyes._ She was in doctor mode now, and Scott looked at Rachel. _Look at her eyes._

"Rachel, look at me." _She's got slurry speech, and she looked a bit bleary-eyed. Plus there was some disorientation._ He relayed the exchange between Logan and Rachel about whether he'd been in her head.

Rachel looked up at him, and Peter reported, "I think she lost consciousness for a brief moment."

Jean instructed him through a couple of other tests, then said, _She's concussed. Normally, I'd have her rest for the day._

_Can't do that, hon._ Scott let sorrow and grief touch his thoughts, felt her resigned response. _I'll try to keep her out of the worst of it, but she's the only defense against Frost._

_I know. Be careful._

Scott sent an acknowledgment and his love, then let the link fade to its natural strength. "Rachel, honey, can you focus on me?"

"Yes, of course." Now she sounded irritated, though her speech still slurred.

"Okay." He didn't even glance at Logan when he said, "I know you're hurting." He touched the bruise on her forehead. "But I still need you to work a while."

She nodded, then winced. "Okay, no nodding. I can work."

He smiled at her and squeezed her shoulder. "Good girl. When we're done here, you can have a vacation."

"You'll pay for it?"

Scott laughed. "Within reason, sure."

Rachel grinned at him, and he stood, met Logan's gaze, and the other man nodded fractionally. A tension he hadn't realized he felt eased, and he turned to Kitty. "Did you get the GPS?"

Kitty gestured with her handheld. "We're only a few degrees off course. Still have a mile's hike through these woods, though."

"And we'll probably run into company on the way," Logan added. "They knew we were coming."

"I don't think so," Scott said. "I think Frost sensed us. Or someone else with a long-range detection. All the stealth and cloaking in the world wouldn't hide the Blackbird from, say, Magneto."

"Then let's go." Logan held out a hand to Rachel, and she took it, leveraged herself to her feet.

"Before we start, put in your earplugs. They're designed to fit over your comlink," he added to Logan, who only adjusted first his comlink then his earplug.

"Better than nothing," was all Logan said, and Scott sent Jean the image of him supporting their daughter while she adjusted her own earplugs.

When the entire team had their earplugs in, Scott looked at his brother. "Alex, if you will?"

"Will? Will what?" Alex's forehead creased in confusion.

"The honors." He jerked his chin at the Blackbird. "Let's not let it fall into the wrong hands."


	26. Chapter 26

They're still not mine. I'm just borrowing them for a while.

X X X X X

"I'll take point," Logan said. He had the most experience in situations like this, and his enhanced senses would alert him to dangers ahead long before anyone else would know.

"Comm check," Scott ordered, and moments later they'd verified that all comlinks were functioning properly.

Logan took a last look at Rachel before turning and loping through the woods, following the directions Kitty had given him. They'd overshot their target by almost a mile, and he expected to meet an armed welcoming committee long before he reached their target.

The harsh click of a weapon cocking resounded in his ears, and he paused, listening, scenting. The sound didn't repeat, but he heard footsteps, loud, crunching. Whoever was in charge of these bozos had no sense of discipline or stealth.

Silently, he moved to the nearest tree and scaled it. "Company," he subvocalized into the comlink. "I see ten, about three hundred and fifty meters from where I left you. Automatic weapons."

The seconds of silence before Scott replied felt longer than they actually were. They'd gotten soft, Logan realized, accustomed to Jean or Rachel maintaining a mindlink during their missions. But Jean was on pregnancy leave, and Rachel wasn't able to maintain a link yet. At least she was walking, even if she did have to lean on Scott for support.

"Think you, Pixel, and Colossus can handle them?" Scott's voice came through his earpiece.

"We can take 'em. Gonna let them pass by me." Logan settled himself into position on a high limb to wait for the guards to pass beneath him. "Colossus, Pixel, don't worry about being seen. Just don't engage after two hundred fifty meters."

He heard their acknowledgments, then Alex's voice. "Do I need a code name?"

"You don't need one if you're not an X-Man," Scott replied. "But if you want one, go for it."

Logan bit back a sarcastic comment as the enemy guards passed beneath his perch. He needed to be quiet, both physically and mentally, until they'd gone.

"Probably should have one, just so I don't stick out," Alex was saying.

"In my memory, you went by Havok." Logan smiled to hear Rachel's voice, shifted position on the limb. When the guards were another few steps away, he could drop from his position.

"Havok," Alex repeated. "Guess that'll do."

"Pixel, Colossus," Logan said. "Where are you?"

"I can see them," Peter said. "Two hundred meters from where you left us."

Logan dropped from the tree. "I'm coming up behind them. Engage at your discretion."

"We are ready." The metallic echo in Peter's voice told Logan he'd shifted to his armored form. The yelp from one of the guards told Logan they'd seen Peter and Kitty. Then gunfire filled the forest.

Against the harsh rattle of machine-gun fire, the clangs of bullets bouncing off Peter's armored form stood out sharply. With all that racket, the guards would never hear him coming.

At least, he thought as he closed the distance between him and the last of the guards, Peter and Kitty didn't have enough skill to have taken all of the guards down before he got some fun.

Peter was closing on a second guard, the first already unconscious on the ground. Kitty appeared to be enjoying the stunned reaction of the guard she faced far too much. Not that Logan could blame the guy -- it wasn't every day you fired and fired and fired and the bullets went right through your intended victim.

"We don't have time for you to play with him, Kitty," he subvocalized.

She grimaced, but stepped forward and put her intangible hand on the machine gun. The guard yelped when she phased it out of his hand, then reversed it and clubbed him over the head with it.

While a part of him winced at seeing a weapon used like that, Logan had to give her credit for inventiveness. Then she passed out of his immediate awareness when he launched himself at two of the guards unlucky enough to be standing close enough together that he could strike them both at the same time.

The strike disconcerted them, and a kick to one and a gut-punch to the other brought them both down.

Moments later, all of the guards lay unconscious or bleeding, and Peter was giving the all-clear signal.

- X -

Rachel hated having to lean on her uncle -- or anyone -- for support. But at least she was walking and her headache had faded to a dull presence behind her eyes. She was thankful that she hadn't broken any bones, let alone her neck. She'd hate to have come back through time, and finally convinced Logan to see what they could be to each other, only to die before she could completely enjoy the results of that.

She had to smile when she saw the bodies. She sensed that the guards were alive, but the pile of weapons and ammunition next to them told her they'd been thoroughly searched before they were jumbled together.

"We need zip-ties," Peter said, his voice in an odd stereo, coming both from him -- muffled, thanks to the earplugs -- where he stood ten feet from her and from the comlink in her ear -- crystal clear and sharp.

"Shoelaces." Logan handed him a few that he'd already gathered. "And pile their boots with those weapons."

Moments later, the guards were secured and the pile reminded Rachel of an odd sort of campfire base. Her father opened his visor and blasted the pile.

"Let's go," he said.

- X -

_Why did I volunteer for this, again?_ Alex looked at the subdued guards. None of them were dead, as far as he knew, but he had no doubt that Scott would order deadly force if he thought it was necessary. He swallowed, wondering whether he'd be able to kill someone.

He wasn't a fighter -- not like his father nor, apparently, his brother. He'd always preferred rocks, sand, shale, and his lab. He shouldn't be here. He should've stayed behind, traded places with Iceman. Oh, Scott's argument that the Hellfire Club didn't know about his power made perfect sense, but Alex was more than his power.

But he was here now, and he'd see it through because he'd promised. Never again, though, not if he had any say in the matter.

"Leland's here." Scott's voice came clearly through the tiny earpiece Alex wore, even as he realized that it was getting harder to move. Alex concentrated, struggled to lift his foot and move it forward a step. That proved impossible, and even standing upright was becoming a challenge. Beside him, Rachel's weight against his arm felt unbearable, and he sensed her struggling to remain standing as well.

"Indeed I am." The gravelly voice came from ahead of them, and Alex looked in its direction. A portly man in a three-piece suit stood there, his hands resting on the head of his walking cane. "Not all effective powers are flashy. And keeping you from walking is good, but I rather like the idea of you kneeling."

Alex felt as though he'd suddenly gained five hundred pounds on a frame with no practice carrying it. His knees buckled, and he fell, unable to support Rachel any longer. She fell to her knees beside him with a grunt. It would be so easy to use his power, but did he have the right? More to the point, would he manage to use his power before Leland made his blood too heavy for his heart to pump?

"Sphinx, Pixel, take care of him." Now Scott's voice sounded strained, and Alex guessed it was from the effort of standing straight.

"I've got him," Kitty said, and Alex blinked when he saw her running toward Leland, apparently unaffected by his power.

"You should be on your knees," Leland said. "Now."

He stretched a hand toward Kitty, but she closed the distance between them quickly, and Alex felt his jaw drop open when she stuck a hand into Leland's chest.

"Don't back up," she told him, "or you'll pull yourself right off of your heart."

"What are you doing?" Leland's voice sounded strangled. Alex couldn't blame him.

Kitty didn't answer. Her expression grim, she kept her hand embedded in his chest.

Even from this distance, Alex could see the sheen of sweat forming on Leland's face. Leland's expression changed from confidence to fear, and he swatted at Kitty's arm. His hand went through her arm, and Alex marveled at the control of her power that suggested.

"Let him go." A blonde woman in a white suit emerged from the trees. "Or I'll kill your friends. One thought is all it will take."

- X -

"Cyclops?" Scott heard Kitty's voice in his ear. Since she'd grabbed hold of Leland's heart -- or he assumed that's what she'd done -- the weight bearing down on them had lessened considerably.

He was already turning his head toward Emma Frost, his thumb reaching for the visor controls in his glove.

Frost turned to him with a chilly smile. "You'll be first."

Scott breathed in and out, once, forcing the breath past the weight still pressing on his chest thanks to Leland's power. He'd spent half his life in the company of the strongest telepath in the world, half a decade loving another. Constant exposure to them had both strengthened his natural shields and given him insight into a few other tricks.

One of those tricks was how not to think, simply be aware of what happened as he withdrew into his own mind. He withdrew now, and finally fell to his knees, catching his weight on his fists.

Frost smiled, certain, no doubt, that he'd finally succumbed to Leland's power -- and he had, though he'd controlled his fall so that his fists were balled, his thumbs near his forefingers. If he was careful, if he moved slowly enough and didn't think about it, he could blast her before she knew what he was doing.

"Shall I give him a quick death, or a painful one?" Frost mused aloud.

Shaw answered her rhetorical question. "Both. Kill them so we can end this farce."

Scott raised his head to look at Frost, turning his power on at the same time, and his thumb brushed hidden electronic contacts.

The visor opened, ever so slightly, as pain lanced through his mind.

- X -

Rachel had watched in horror as Frost focused on her father, trying to gather her mental strength to attack. She had no illusions as to how effective it would be, but she had to try to save her father.

Then ruby light exploded from his visor and Frost jumped backward. It was the opening she needed. Frost was a stronger telepath than she was, but the distraction of the blast meant that Rachel could slip past the other woman's shields and put her to sleep.

_I'm no pushover._ Even as Frost struggled to regain her footing, she threw up hasty shields.

Rachel strained to burrow around or through the other woman's shields. Another distraction -- she reached out with her telekinesis and yanked Frost toward her. Frost dug her fingers into the ground, trying to slow her progress, but Rachel only pulled harder.

_Hate to mess up that pretty white suit,_ Rachel sent. Along with the words, she sent a telepathic blast designed to give the other woman an instant migraine.

The blast ricocheted off Frost's shields -- it was a vivid description, Rachel decided, even if it wasn't entirely accurate -- and then Rachel's perceptions shifted. Instead of lying in a forest, she rested naked on a king-sized bed lined with silk sheets. Through an open window, she saw the tops of trees, then ocean in the distance. Jasmine and lavender scented the pillows, and a light breeze teased her, whispering against her skin, bringing her to arousal.

Rachel sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the bed, determined to see where she'd been taken, but every brush of skin against silken sheet only served to make her burn more. She'd never felt so ready to bed the next person who came into the room, and a small part of her didn't think it mattered whether that person was male or female.

A door to one side opened, and instinctively she turned to face this new -- threat? Why did she call it a threat? Wasn't her lover returning from a quick shower?

Rachel frowned. No, her lover wasn't taking a shower. He was -- he was where she was supposed to be. Which was -- where, exactly?

"Morning." Logan stepped into the room, a black silk robe dangling open. It swirled around his thighs and caressed his rampant cock as he crossed the room to rest his hands on the bed on either side of her hips. He leaned close to her, the lapels of his robe whispering against her breasts. "Ready for more?"

She shivered at the feel of his breath against her ear, the teasing ache in her nipples. Her hands moved up his chest, kneading the muscle there through the thin fabric of the robe.

"Always ready for the Wolverine," she whispered just before her mouth met his. Her arms went around his neck before she realized she was going to touch him. He leaned forward, pressing her down to the bed, pinning her with his body.

His touch, his taste, were intoxicating, and it was easy to lose herself in them. Her hands roamed his body, touching, stroking, drawing that pleasure out.

"Oh, yes, sweetheart. Touch me. Nobody else's touch felt as good as yours."

"Really?" Her hand wandered lower, caressing more intimate places.

"God, yes. Touch me there, sweetheart. Please."

Her questing fingers found his cock, and he moaned.

She twisted, hard.

He yelped and jerked back, the illusion shattering around them. Rachel found herself standing on the astral plane, facing Emma Frost.

_How'd you know?_

_He'd never call me sweetheart._ Rachel focused a mental attack at the other woman. On the astral, it appeared as a spear, flying true toward Frost's head.

Frost deflected it, sent her own attack toward Rachel. But Rachel had already launched a second bolt. Rachel winced at the psychic backwash already rolling through her. Frost was strong, easily as strong as her mother, stronger than she was.

She summoned her will, reinforced the attack she'd launched. She'd have to make this one count.

Frost had apparently had a similar thought, Rachel realized in the instant that she saw Frost's own attack bolt rocketing toward her. Strange how the mind supplied images for things that were beyond its normal comprehension. So she "saw" two lances aiming for each other, much like the jousters of old had done. In this case, the lances collided, splintering their ends against the other.

She felt the blow almost as if it had been physical, and Rachel reeled backward, fell back into her body. In the split second before she blacked out, she saw Frost fall as well.

- X -

Logan's gut clenched when he saw Rachel fall. That the other telepath fell as well was small comfort. But still the rest of the Hellfire Club needed to be taken down.

In a heartbeat, he assessed the threats from each of the remaining Hellfire Club members. Kitty still held the fat guy's heart. One man's skin was turning black, absorbing all ambient light, even as Logan watched -- da Costa, presumably. Two other men and a woman stood somewhat back from the fray. The last member of their group -- Logan caught a subtle shift in the man's scent. Where it had been a typical male scent, now it was overlaid with something canine, and Logan could see the man's body beginning to shift as well.

Shapeshifter. Von Roehm. Some instinct sent him toward the canid man before Scott could give orders. _He can yell at me after we kick their asses._

Two quick steps and he'd launch himself at the canid man. Adamantium claws would make short work of him.

His foot had just touched ground for the second step when the shriek pierced his ears.

He managed to keep his balance, if barely, and slapped his hands over his ears. This was worse than the scream he'd heard so briefly when Stryker invaded the mansion -- higher pitched and designed to incapacitate. If it weren't for the earplugs, he'd already have been unconscious. Almost a full ten seconds after the scream began, he saw the other X-Men had heard it, too.

He saw Scott's mouth moving in a word that might have been, "Blast --"

Then his world went dark and blissfully silent.


	27. Chapter 27

Most days, Jean Grey loved the life she'd made for herself -- the activism, the school, the team. Sometimes, she missed the pure research she'd thought she'd pursue. But that had been before the manifestation of her powers, before the school, and certainly before the team and the activism that went hand in hand with it. Now, with her decision to pursue the chance to be Hank's successor as Secretary of Mutant Affairs, she doubted she'd ever have much time to devote to pure research again.

So she focused on this final foray into the field she'd have to give up -- more so because the results might give Jonesy his power back.

Jean hoped she'd make a discovery that could help him. And Lorna Dane, too, she reminded herself. Whatever the history with her or her grandfather, Jean couldn't in good conscience withhold a reversal from someone who had been shot with a cure dart not only without anything resembling due process, but who had also attempted to help defend against the attack that caused it.

Just now she waited for results of one test she'd done with a sample of Jonesy's blood and a vaccine she'd distilled from the control serum she'd used on Scott and already tested on drops taken from cure darts. Jonesy remained in his room, silent except for a wail of psychic grief that she felt any time she opened her psychic senses. She'd suggested Charles talk to the boy, but even he hadn't been able to cut through Jonesy's self-imposed wall of silence.

Although the results of the test wouldn't be complete for another half hour at least, Jean felt no desire to leave her laboratory. She should, she knew -- if only to go to her office and call Hank back -- but her bottom remained planted on the stool beside her microscope, and her feet refused to touch the floor.

_The tests will finish whether you hover over them or not,_ she told herself firmly. _There's nothing you can do here, and nothing you can do to help Scott and the others. You should just take a break. Get something to drink. Lunch, even, because you forgot it again, and that can't be good for the baby._

The thought of the new life growing inside her was enough, finally, to get her to move. A glance told her that Lorna still lay on a bed in the infirmary, and Jean reminded herself to bring the other woman back something to drink that wasn't ice water. Lorna seemed as reluctant to rejoin the world as Jonesy, and Jean feared that finding a way to reach Lorna across that gulf would be even more difficult than reaching Jonesy. But she had to try, somehow.

Jean emerged from the elevator to see that Bobby and Ororo had gotten most of the kids involved in cleaning up the broken glass and other detritus of the fight with the drones. Two younger children who were struggling to right a potted plant, so she gave them a little telekinetic assistance.

"Thanks, Dr. Grey," echoed behind her as she passed them on her way to the kitchen. Movement out the front window caught her eye, and she paused to watch the dark car as it pulled to a stop in the drive. Then she smiled when she caught the mental signature of one of its occupants and hurried to the door to open it for Hank.

"What are you doing here?" she asked when she hugged him hello.

"I came to see you, actually," he answered, then frowned at the activity. "I thought you'd cleaned up after Stryker's attack."

"We did. This just happened. The team's off dealing with it now." Quickly, she told him what had occurred. She'd resumed her trek toward the kitchen without thinking, and Hank fell into step with her.

"Remember when we first started, and the team was just a glimmer of a hope?" Hank sounded a bit wistful, she thought. "Who would've thought we'd be national news one day?"

"Much less have a Cabinet-level influence in Washington." Jean opened the working fridge and scanned the contents. She could make a grilled cheese sandwich easily enough, she decided, and there was fruit to go with it. She pulled bread, cheese, mayonnaise, butter, and a tomato from the fridge and set to work.

"That's why I'm here," Hank said. "I wanted to brief you on what to expect during the confirmation process. You'll have an easier time than I did, I think."

"Why do you say that? And do you want a sandwich?" She spread a thin coating of mayonnaise on two slices of bread.

"No, thanks. Several reasons, not least of which is that the recent events with Magneto have raised awareness of the mutant phenomenon, and both the president and Congress are eager to jump on the popularity bandwagon."

Jean paused in her preparations. "I think that's the plainest I've heard you speak in a long time, Hank."

Hank sat on a stool at the edge of the island where Jean worked. "You're a telepath," he smiled at her. "Best to speak plainly to those."

Jean laughed and sliced the tomato. "I see your point. But this is about more than just popularity, isn't it? Some confirmation hearings get ... heated."

"That's what I'm referring to," Hank said. "The Senate won't want to make a fuss over an acceptable candidate -- and you are far more than acceptable. They'll question you about your conduct, of course, but that won't be a concern. And your policy stance. President McKenna was sounding you out on that when we spoke."

"I'm no one's pushover, Hank, you know that." She assembled the sandwich and reached for another knife to spread butter on the top layer of bread.

"No, but you're not a radical or rabid activist, either. You're, pardon the term, a moderate, which is what the president wants, and the Senate will likely confirm a moderate almost pro forma."

Jean put a frying pan onto the stove, slipped the sandwich into it, buttered side down, and turned on the heat beneath it. "Part of being a moderate is hearing all sides and evaluating them. I'll listen to any reasonable arguments from any side."

"There won't be many of those. Most will be rants and ravings, which may or may not have a reasonable point at their core."

Jean smeared butter on the other side of the sandwich. "Assuming I am confirmed, I'll get to appoint my own staff, right?"

"Deputies, you mean?"

"Deputies, Undersecretaries, Assistant Secretaries -- whatever they're called." While the cheese melted, she returned the ingredients to the fridge.

"Within reason, yes. Most of your actual support staff are hired through the normal federal employment channels. And of course, those positions are already filled, other than attrition."

"Of course." She flipped the sandwich over to brown the other side. "But I want other points of view than just mine in the highest levels."

"Do you have anyone in mind?"

Jean leaned back against the counter beside the stove. "Believe it or not, I wish Erik were still alive."

"You can't be serious."

His voice had gone flat, and Jean concealed a frown. She was beginning to understand some of the frustration Scott had felt during his last meeting with Hank. "Erik before Alcatraz, obviously. But why not, otherwise? It's good for us not to get too complacent, isn't it?"

"Do you want to be associating with radicals?" Hank's tone held a careful neutrality that suggested she should consider her next words with care.

She had already considered them. "I'd prefer to associate with them, and therefore keep them reasonably pacified, than have them, say, attacking innocent researchers."

"You wouldn't seriously consider what they said." Hank sounded confident.

"Of course I would." Jean shut the burner off and slid her sandwich onto a plate. "Because beneath whatever ravings they have, there's probably a legitimate concern. The trick is to find out what it is and address it, so they don't have to be radicals anymore. Are you all right, Hank? You look like you need an aspirin."

Hank straightened both his posture and his expression. "Fine, thank you." He paused a moment and she took a bite of her sandwich. "Alternatives are always good," he said finally. "Just as you'd suggested -- Larry Bodine, didn't you?"

Jean hid a smile behind another bite of grilled cheese and tomato, then stopped mid-chew.

"Jean?"

She swallowed, put the sandwich down. "Alternatives -- Hank, you're a genius."

"Well, yes, you know that. Though I suspect Kitty's smarter than I am."

"One of those alternatives is sitting downstairs in the infirmary," Jean said. "You should probably meet her. Come on."

"But your sandwich will get cold."

"I lived on cold meals all through my residency." But she picked up the sandwich to take it with her. She hadn't been pregnant during her residency, after all.

- X -

Scott came awake slowly, which was in itself unusual. Normally his mind was instantly active when he woke and staying in bed was a waste of time. Now his thoughts chugged laboriously from memory to memory to sensation.

The Hellfire Club had shot down their Blackbird -- he had a moment's grief for the loss of a well-made aircraft -- and then ambushed them. So where was he now?

Instinctively, he kept his eyes closed and stretched out his other senses. He heard the low hum of an air conditioning system, felt starchy fabric beneath him, softer fabric around him instead of his uniform. An antiseptic scent stung his nose. A slight pressure inside his elbow suggested a needle rested in his vein.

_Hospital?_

He blinked his eyes open and saw that his conclusion was correct. Around him the X-Men lay on beds separated by hanging curtains that hadn't been pulled. Some kind of emergency or critical care unit, he decided, where privacy came secondary to easy access to the patient. And there in the center of the area sat a small nurse's station, where a nurse sat on duty, a doctor looking over her shoulder.

"You're awake."

Hank's voice -- and he turned his head to see his old friend sitting next to him.

"Hank? Where's --?"

"You're in a small hospital near Saratoga," Hank told him. "They were a bit overwhelmed by your arrival."

"I can imagine." Scott adjusted the tube running from the needle in his arm, then scooted back up on the bed. He hadn't been asking where they were, though -- he'd wanted to know, "Where's Jean?"

"On her way," Hank answered. "You've been out for a while. We were afraid you weren't going to make it."

"What happened?" Scott asked. "I remember a sonic attack, and then nothing until I woke up here."

"You set a record for 911 calls when the jet crashed," Hank said, unbuttoning his suit coat. "When the paramedics arrived, they found you all unconscious."

"Shaw and his people?"

"Also unconscious on the scene. They're in another ward."

"I assume the authorities will question us at some point. How'd they know to contact you?" And where was Jean? It shouldn't have taken her more than a couple of hours to drive from Westchester to Saratoga. She should've gotten here about the same time Hank had, actually -- assuming Hank had flown in from Washington.

Was that a hesitation before Hank answered? "It was a fight between powerful mutants. Of course they called me."

"How are they?" Scott nodded toward the others. On Hank's far side, he saw Alex. To his left were Logan, Peter, Kitty, and Rachel. "Rachel, especially."

Hank turned in his chair. "Doctor Rosmiller?"

The blond-haired man straightened from his quiet conversation with the nurse on duty and crossed to Scott's bedside. "Glad to see you're awake, Mr. Summers. I'm Robert Rosmiller."

Scott shook the man's outstretched hand. The other man's hand was soft -- the result of a career more intellectual than physical -- but he had a firm grip. "How's my team, Doctor?"

"Very well, overall," the doctor replied. "Although I'm not as familiar with mutant physiology as I could be."

"The differences are mostly at the genetic level," Scott said, almost absently. His attention was focused on the bed to his left where Logan lay apparently sleeping peacefully. Who'd've thought that Wolverine could ever look peaceful? "Did Wolverine die?"

Rosmiller blinked at him owlishly. "None of your team died. They're all right here."

"I'm just surprised he's not awake yet," Scott said. That was the trouble with doctors who weren't Jean -- they had no idea what mutation could mean.

"People are different in their reactions to stressful and traumatic injury," Rosmiller said, "but since you're awake, let's check your vitals."

_Jean would've asked for details. Why I thought Logan should be awake, why I asked if he'd died._ But all doctors acted differently, Scott reminded himself. He'd gotten too used to Jean's approach.

Hank stood and moved aside while Rosmiller came forward and pulled a blood pressure cuff from its rack on the wall next to Scott's bed. Scott looked down at the man's hands where they wrapped the cuff around his upper arm, unable to keep the frown completely off his face.

He'd lost track of how many nights he and Jean had spent together, relaxing in front of the television and laughing over the inaccuracies they spotted. The goofs he caught invariably had to do with tactics. Hers, of course, dealt with the medical profession. "No doctor," he heard her saying now, "takes a patient's blood pressure."

"You do," he'd countered, and she'd shaken her head. "I'm in a private clinic with possibly the world's smallest case load. In a hospital of any size, they have machines or, at worst, nurses, to do the mundane chores like blood pressure and pulse and temperature."

"Well within the normal range," Rosmiller said now as the cuff deflated. "No one would guess you'd been in a fight not long ago."

"We win?" Logan's voice drew Scott's attention to the bed to his left.

"It was a good fight in the sense that it was a good landing," Scott said. Before Logan could respond, he added, "They tell me that Shaw and his people are in another ward. Check on them, will you?"

Logan blinked at him, but sat up and started to rip the IV needle out of his arm.

"Don't do that," the graying nurse hurried from behind her desk. "You need to replace lost fluids."

"Already regenerated 'em," Logan said, and shoved the tip of the needle into the hospital bed before padding on bare feet out the door beside the nurse's station. The nurse looked after him helplessly.

"Temperature." Rosmiller held out a thermometer, and Scott slipped it under his tongue. Rosmiller's reaction to the reading should be entertaining, he thought. But when Rosmiller withdrew it and checked the digital reading, all he said was, "You truly are in excellent health, Mr. Summers."

That clinched it. This was no hospital, and Rosmiller was no doctor. This doctor should've been ordering fever-reducers, and ignoring Scott's explanation that his body temperature was higher than normal by several degrees. Now Scott only had to determine who among all these people in the room, if anyone, was real, and find the illusionmaster.

Wyngarde. It had to be, Scott thought. Jason Stryker had inherited his mutant gene from his true father -- Wyngarde -- and what little they knew of mutant genetics suggested that children inherited a parent's power or a variation on it. So how could he break the illusion?

He thought, and then he had it.

"I think we'll be able to release you and your team soon," Rosmiller said. "Perhaps tomorrow."

"Excellent," Scott said. "We need to get back home to the zoo."

"Zoo?" Rossmiller looked puzzled, and Hank bristled. "No need to be insulting, Scott."

"You're right," Scott said as he pulled the needle from his arm. "I wasn't thinking. It's not the zoo. It's the barn. Everybody needs to be awake for this. You can wake them up, right, Doc?"

Rosmiller now seemed a bit flustered. "It's best to let them wake naturally," he began, but Scott cut him off.

"Not for this. Not now. Wake them all up." Scott looked up when Logan appeared in the doorway, and grinned widely. "Logan, glad you're back!"

He jumped from his bed and strode across the room, his hospital gown flapping open and cool air caressing his bare ass. Assuming it was really bare, which he couldn't assume. He clasped the other man's arms. "Kiss me, you fool."


	28. Chapter 28

Lorna clicked off the television and tossed the remote control unit onto her bedside table. The only advantage the X-Men's infirmary had over a standard hospital was that people weren't always making noise. That was also a drawback, in that she had precious little to relieve her boredom.

She understood why Grey had ordered her to remain under observation after her allergic reaction to the cure dart, but that didn't mean she had to enjoy it -- especially when she didn't have a book or collection of magazines to read. Next time she saw Grey or her assistant, she'd ask.

Footfalls drew her attention to the doorway. Lorna wasn't surprised to see Grey coming into the room, but the looming blue bulk behind her made her eyes widen. What was the Secretary of Mutant Affairs doing here?

"How are you doing?" Grey asked with a smile that Lorna supposed was meant to be encouraging. _She probably learned that in med school._

"Well enough, I suppose, for a cripple." She couldn't help the bitterness in her voice, didn't even try. She hadn't approved when her grandfather had turned his back on Mystique after she lost her powers to a cure dart, but she couldn't ignore that a fundamental part of her was gone, as though it had never existed. Still, she sometimes stretched out as though to use her power.

Grey glanced at the equipment monitoring her temperature, pulse, and blood pressure. "Have you met Hank McCoy?"

"No," Lorna replied.

"Hank, this is Lorna Dane. She's Erik's granddaughter."

McCoy barely hesitated as he offered his hand, though Lorna couldn't miss the surprise that flickered across his expression. "The pleasure is mine."

Lorna shook his hand and waited. Something was up, and all of her senses tingled to awareness.

Then McCoy glanced at Grey. His expression suggested that he was hesitant to bring up a difficult question.

"Hank, would you grab a couple of chairs, please?"

"Go ahead and use your power," Lorna said and watched two chairs slide across the room. "What's going on?" she asked when McCoy and Grey had taken their seats.

"That's what I'd like to know," McCoy said. "No offense intended, but, Jean, isn't she a criminal?"

"Remanded to the X-Men's custody," Grey answered. "Pending trial, of course."

"Then I'm very confused," McCoy said.

"I'm under consideration to be Hank's successor as Secretary of Mutant Affairs," Grey said, and Lorna knew the other woman sensed her shock.

"What does that have to do with me?" she asked finally. From McCoy's expression, she knew he wondered that as well.

"Nothing's guaranteed," Grey said, "and I may not be confirmed. But if I am, and if we can work something out with the courts, I wondered if you'd serve on my staff."

"Are you insane?" Lorna hid a smile when she realized that McCoy silently echoed her question.

"I don't think so," Grey replied. "Why?"

"Why would you want me on your staff? After what I did --" she broke off.

"Because you have a vastly different perspective than I do, and I don't want to become insulated from other perspectives," Grey said. "It may not be possible, but at the least I'd like to be able to consult you as an advisor."

Lorna studied McCoy from the corner of her eye. She'd never met him before, had only seen glimpses of him on television, but now that he'd recovered from his initial shock, she could read that he wanted to object to Grey's offer. That told her that Grey was serious.

"Even a radical perspective like ours?" Lorna asked.

"Maybe especially a radical perspective like yours," Grey replied.

"Jean, are you certain this is wise?" McCoy asked. "Selecting a staff before you're confirmed --"

"I'm doing no such thing," Grey countered. "I'm asking her if she'd be interested if I am confirmed -- and if the courts will agree to some kind of arrangement. I don't expect an answer now, of course, that would be silly. But I wanted to extend the offer while I have the chance."

That at least made sense, Lorna had to admit. Once she left this place, she'd probably never come back. Nor would she accept calls from any of them. That had been her plan until now, at least.

"I'll have to think about it," Lorna said finally. Her first instinct was to reject the offer outright, but it was an opportunity she had to consider.

"It's not going to be easy," Grey said.

Lorna couldn't help smiling, just a little. "I wouldn't expect it to be."

"Dr. Grey?" The question came from Terry, Grey's assistant.

Grey glanced up at him, then rose. "Excuse me a moment."

McCoy watched her follow Terry into her office, then focused his gaze on Lorna. She met it without blinking. "You don't approve of her offer," she said.

"I think it's an ill-considered offer, since she hasn't been publicly nominated yet."

"You'd think it ill-considered no matter what, given who I am and what I did."

McCoy gave a diplomatic half-shrug of one shoulder. "It's her decision to make. Or will be, if she's confirmed."

Lorna nodded and lapsed into silence. The offer was more than anything she'd ever expected, and she knew she'd have to consider it carefully once Grey was confirmed. Strange, she mused, that she had no doubt of Grey's confirmation -- even if Grey didn't affect the hearings with her telepathy.

"I'm sorry," Grey said, and Lorna looked up to see that the redhead had emerged from her office, "but Terry's got some lab results that can't wait. Hank, I'll see you later. Lorna, I hope you'll think about the offer."

Without waiting for a reply, Grey turned and strode away with Terry. Lorna barely heard their voices as they spoke, but they both seemed intent on whatever they were discussing.

McCoy stared after them for a long moment, then rose. "I should let you rest."

"Will you do something for me?" Lorna asked before he could escape and refused to feel guilty for the trapped expression he wore.

"If it's possible," McCoy said.

"This is a school, right? So there's a library?" He nodded at her question, still wary. "Would you bring me a book or two?"

- X -

_Kiss me, you fool._ The words seemed to echo forever in the sterile hospital room.

Logan stood frozen, staring at Scott. It was the last order he'd ever expected to hear Scott give -- Scott would've told him to take Jeannie to bed before he'd say this. What the hell was going on?

It had to be some kind of trick, he thought. But who was playing it?

His mind tumbled through possibilities and probabilities and, unbidden, he remembered something Scott had said to him once.

_"If I believed it would be in the best interests of the team or would help achieve a goal, I'd order everyone to go play tiddlywinks."_

A kiss wasn't exactly tiddlywinks, but Logan supposed the spirit was the same. Which meant that the man holding his arms probably was Scott -- but how could he know for sure? And then he had it.

He bent forward, ignoring every instinct that wanted to run away from this protesting that it wasn't right, and grabbed Scott's mouth with his. He had to be forceful, quick, or he'd never finish it.

Scott jerked back and Logan pursued him, sucked the other man's lower lip between his teeth and bit down. Three short nips, three longer bites, three more short nips. Not hard enough to draw blood but, he hoped, hard enough to get the message across.

A heartbeat later, he sensed Scott relax.

- X -

SOS. The universal cry for distress. Scott had learned it -- and the rest of the Morse code alphabet -- almost before he learned to walk, thanks to a military family. He'd never expected to have it nibbled on his lip, but it told him that Logan was real and had his own suspicions about the situation. Now he had to confirm the other man's suspicions -- quickly and without being detected -- and Logan had given him the way to do it.

The tip of his tongue danced on Logan's upper lip. Three dits, a letter space, a dash, a dit, and another dash. OK.

Then Logan was backing away, the kiss ended, and Scott thought quickly. They had to break the illusion, and to do that they had to overwhelm the illusion caster.

"Shame for it just to be us," Scott told Logan. "We should invite the others to the party. You start with Peter, I'll get Kitty."

He crossed to the bed where Kitty -- apparently -- lay, and shook her shoulder. "Hey, Kitty. Kitty, wake up. I have to show you something."

She swatted at his hand, but finally opened her eyes and focused on him. "What?"

"Look at me," he said with what he hoped was a manic grin. "I'm Mel Gibson in _Braveheart_." He turned away from her, bent over to expose his bare ass through the opening of the hospital gown and slapped it with both hands.

- X -

Logan yanked the IV needle out of Peter's arm. Blood spurted from the wound, but Logan didn't care. For all he knew, the wound wasn't even real. He was real, Scott was real -- that kiss had been real, but he refused to think about it now. He couldn't afford to. He'd picked up on Scott's plan for chaos, and now he had to see it through.

"Pete. Yo, Petey." He slapped the other man's face. "Wake up. Time to have some fun."

Peter snapped awake, stared at Logan. Logan didn't give him a chance to think.

"C'mon, Colossus. Get outta bed. We got a race to run."

"A race?" Peter sounded confused.

"Yeah. Gurney races in the hallway. Let's go."

"Why are we racing gurneys in the hallway?" But Peter was already sitting up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. Good man.

"'Cause we don't have wheelchairs," Logan said, as though it were obvious. "And there's only one bike, Summers is damn lazy about souping up any others. So gurneys it is. C'mon."

Logan kept one eye on Peter while he stepped behind the bed he'd been lying on. "Let's go." He shoved the bed away from the wall, toward the door.

"Sir, I must protest," the nurse rested her hands on the foot of Logan's bed. "You should be in bed, both of you."

For a moment, Logan considered running her over with the bed, but held back because not only might she be a real person, she might be one of their team. So he said, "You're right. We don't have a hot chick in a bikini to drop the starter flag. Why don't you take off that uniform? Not a bikini, but a bra and panties will do fine."

"Even granny panties?" Peter asked.

"Even granny panties," Logan agreed. Peter was getting into it. Good. Another one on their side.

- X -

Scott heard Kitty's gasp, and then her voice, sounding strained, "Mel Gibson had blue face paint when he did that."

Scott straightened and turned to face her. "Then find me some_._"

She looked around. "Where?"

"Maybe the nice nurse has some." He turned toward the nurse's station, saw the nurse trying to stop Logan and Peter from -- racing their gurneys? "You can look in her desk, I bet. She probably has some in her purse. And if you find other stuff that's fun, get those, too. Hey -- we could hang an X-ray on the wall and play darts with syringes."

"Are you all right?" Kitty asked. She hadn't moved from her bed, and she regarded him skeptically.

"Never better," Scott assured her. He put a hint of command into his voice when he said, "Go find some syringes. Oh, and load them up with B-12 if you find it."

Still she hesitated, and he yanked at her hand. "Go. Scoot! I have to wake Rachel, because she shouldn't miss the party, either."

He watched until Kitty was on her way toward the nurse's station before he moved to the bed beside hers. "Rachel, wake up, honey. You need to cheer Logan on."

"'M awake," Rachel said, her voice still somewhat slurred. Regret stabbed through him at having to force her to work when she was physically injured from the crash, and maybe psychically from her fight with Emma Frost. But he had to free her from this illusion as well. "Cheer him on?"

"You're right," he said, forcing himself to sound as enthusiastic as he had moments ago. Until now, he'd been able to let himself have fun with this entire farce. Now, facing his daughter and his responsibilities, fun was the last thing on his mind. And he hated the idea he'd come up with instead. "Cheering Logan on is boring. You know what we need to liven up the party?"

"What?" She sounded more alert, and he wanted to believe he felt her mind touching his, however faintly.

"We need a juggler. Why don't you see how many things you can juggle -- with or without using your hands. Charts, pillows, pencils -- all of it." He didn't wait for her acknowledgment before calling over his shoulder, "Hey, Logan."

"What?" Logan sounded grumpy and when Scott turned, he saw that Logan and Peter were apparently arguing over how to get the beds out of the room. The nurse was hanging onto Peter's arm, trying in vain to get him back to bed. Logan's attention focused on the nurse. "You should be in bra and panties."

Before Scott could say anything, Logan extended one set of claws and sliced the nurse's uniform down the front.

"Told you," Peter said as the shreds of the uniform revealed a flabby belly and plain white cotton underwear. "Granny panties."

"Huh," Logan grunted. "White, though -- are you a virgin?" he asked the nurse as though asking her the time.

"Logan." Scott said again. Logan turned to him with a scowl, and Scott pointed to the expanse of blank wall behind him. "Can you carve a tic-tac-toe board on the wall? Make it a nine-by-nine grid. Big, too."

"And leave the wall standing?"

"Yeah, for now." Scott trusted Logan would do as he ordered, and turned to the final bed, where his brother lay, dodging a pillow as he went. _Rachel must think I've lost my mind. _"Yo, Alex, wakey-wakey."

Alex came awake quickly, and Scott didn't know whether it was his brother's natural reaction or whether the illusion-master was tiring. Alex sat up and looked around. "What the hell?"

"Remember when we used to play tic-tac-toe? I got us a bigger board this time. Can I be X?"

"Ah -- sure. Board?"

"There." He pointed happily to the wall Logan had carved. "X goes first, right?"

Without waiting for an answer, he squinted at the wall and turned his power on low. A moment later, a six-inch X smoked in the drywall. "Your turn. How's the juggling going?"

"Clumsy," Rachel answered. But there were easily three dozen objects in the air in front of her.

"Good," Scott told her. "How about the paper clips in that holder? How many of those can you do? Individually, I mean?"

He never found out. One paper clip rose from the desk, then a second. Both floated toward Rachel with stunning slowness. One by one, the objects in front of her stopped moving. Then the entire room seemed to shimmer, and a crack appeared in the middle of it. The single crack led to others, as though a rock had been thrown against a car window, and three heartbeats later, the hospital room was gone, and the X-Men stood in their armor.

Jason Wyngarde stood where "Dr. Rosmiller" had stood, and now that he saw the real man, Scott saw the lines of strain around his eyes, the sweat beading his brow. If it weren't a battle, Scott would almost pity him. But it was a battle, and therefore he turned his power on.


	29. Chapter 29

Rachel watched Wyngarde fall to the floor -- unconscious or dead, she couldn't tell without a telepathic scan, and that was more effort than she felt able to make at the moment -- and sagged against the nearest wall. Or would have, but Logan was at her side before she even touched the wall, his strong arm around her, supporting her. She settled against him and studied the true room around them.

Far from the hospital it had appeared to be, it was a basement, finished but otherwise featureless.

"Are we secure?" her father asked. He no longer wore a hospital gown, but instead his distinctive X-armor.

"I don't hear anyone outside," Logan said.

"Rachel?"

She felt Logan stiffen at her father's prompt, squeezed his hand, and concentrated for a moment. "The rest of the club is upstairs. There are a bunch of guards, but only the club elite are mutants."

"How'd you know it was an illusion?" Kitty asked.

"The devil's in the details," Rachel responded automatically, remembering how she'd detected the illusion Emma Frost had inserted into her mind.

"Precisely," her father agreed. "He slipped on a few details, which made me suspicious. Then I tested the theory --" he nodded at Logan, and Rachel wondered why Logan tensed beside her -- "and realized I was right. So we had to overload him. Give him too many details that don't fit the story he was telling with the illusion, and eventually he'd lose track of them all."

"Some details I'm never gonna forget," Kitty muttered.

Her father ignored her, all Cyclops now. "Alex, can you fight? Hand to hand, I mean?"

"Been a long time since those martial arts lessons Dad made us take."

"Then help Rachel. Logan, take point. Kitty, behind him. Let's take the fight to them."

- X -

Jean paused at the head of the stairs to the second floor and strengthened her psychic shields. Even from here, she could feel Jonesy's despair seeping through the mansion like a heavy fog, and she needed the extra shielding before she knocked on his door.

She didn't expect a response, and got none, but she waited a slow count of thirty before opening the door. "Jones?"

He sat on the bed, staring at the wall, and she winced internally at the sight. Nobody should ever look that … empty. It was the only word she could think of, and in the face of it, all of the words she'd planned to say deserted her. She could only blurt, "I can fix it."

At first she wasn't certain he'd heard her, but then he turned his head just enough that he was looking directly at her. His expression hadn't changed, but there was a glimmer of hope in his eyes and in his psychic sense.

"I can fix it," she repeated, and held up the syringe she carried. "Do you want a technical explanation, or do you just want the shot?"

He just extended his arm, and she came forward to administer the shot. Jones wanted hope, wanted to believe, but was reluctant to do so. She gave him the shot, then sat on the bed next to him, offering silent support.

The blare of the radio and the blinking of the overhead lights told her the shot had worked as she'd hoped. And then Jones was hugging her fiercely tight. "Thank you," he said, over and over.

She hugged him back, allowed her psychic shields to drop so she could feel his joy. It would help brace her for what was coming next. Lorna.

- X -

For all that he'd told Alex to help Rachel, Scott found himself on her other side as they followed Logan out of the room they'd been in and toward stairs leading up.

"Rachel," he asked quietly as they moved toward the stairs thirty feet ahead of them, "can you shield us from Frost? Without making your injury worse, I mean?"

"I've never heard of using telepathy making a head injury worse. It's just harder for me to concentrate," Rachel explained. "I'll do what I can."

Scott nodded acknowledgment, then hurried the few steps to join Logan at the foot of the stairs.

"Anything?" he murmured, knowing Logan would hear him.

"Two at the top of the stairs. Can't hear any more."

"Nobody else?" Surprise made him ask for confirmation.

Logan shook his head. "Want me to take 'em?"

"Wait," Scott said, or thought he said. His mind had stilled to that starburst of clarity he'd come to know so well over the years. If they were in a basement, other people should be moving around above them. "Rachel -- you sense others. Where?"

"That way." She pointed over her shoulder.

"Up or down?"

Rachel frowned. "I'm not sure."

"Spread out," Scott ordered. "Look for an elevator or stairs down."

In the end, it was Kitty who found it, by circling the exterior walls with her arm phased through them. "Here," she said. "There's air back here, not ground. But there's no door or controls here."

"Recon," Scott told her. "What's inside?"

She disappeared into the wall, then stuck her head back through it. "Anyone have a flashlight?"

Logan chuckled, and Peter and Alex looked disappointed. Scott just asked, "Is there a ledge in there?"

Kitty frowned, backed into the space, then poked her head through again. "Uh-huh."

"Phase me through, then." He offered his hand, and she took it, then pulled him through the wall.

It wasn't the first time she'd phased him, but still he found himself clinging to her hand. The thought that his hand might slip out of hers, causing him to end up with a wall through his brain, was never a comfortable one. The moment passed, and he fumbled for the ledge beneath his feet as she gradually solidified them.

He grabbed a rail for support as he found his footing, then let go of her hand and carefully twisted around so he could look down the shaft and turned his power on, low. The glow from his optic blasts served as a kind of emergency lighting, casting red light down the dark elevator shaft.

"Thanks," Kitty said, and then she was drifting down the shaft. He knew she wasn't floating so much as controlling the density of her body so she fell slowly, but it never failed to make him question the laws of gravity when she did it. Of course, the first time she'd actually climbed up the air, he'd spent an hour trying to write equations to explain it. He'd eventually given up, though he suspected that he, Hank, and Kitty could have a fun evening trying again.

Then Kitty had done exactly that and hovered beside him. "The car's about another hundred feet down. I didn't look to see what's on the other side of the car doors."

Scott blinked, and his optic blast disappeared, plunging the shaft into darkness. "Back through the wall, then."

Once they were back in the basement room and Kitty had explained what she'd found, Scott said, "Kitty will phase us all down and into the elevator car. Then we'll open the doors for a surprise attack. Take down the bad opera singer as soon as you can. Then we'll have to improvise."

Logan balled a fist, extending his claws. "I'm good at improvising."

- X -

At her father's insistence, Rachel stood at the rear of the elevator, crowded in with the rest of the team. She understood his concern, and for all her casual assurances that she could do the job she needed to do, she had no experience with head injuries and telepathic powers. Maybe there was a chance that her powers would be affected, though she hadn't noticed any difference in her perceptions or how it felt to use her powers. She'd have to talk to her mother about it when they were finally back at the mansion.

The team was quiet as they moved into the positions her father ordered, and she grabbed at the handrail behind her as the car swayed. "Whatever you do, Peter," she murmured, "don't transform."

Peter chuckled, and she heard Alex's low, "At least not until the rest of us are out the elevator."

"Ready?" her father asked, his tone all business.

Silence answered him in the affirmative, and now his voice held a hint of excitement, of eagerness. "Then let's do it. Kitty, pop the doors, if you please."

"Sure thing."

A moment later, the doors opened, and the team moved swiftly but quietly into the small lobby that divided it from whatever lay beyond the door. Once they were deployed, her father nodded to Logan.

Logan extended a claw to slice through the manual lock. Peter yanked the door open, and Logan dove into the room, a move designed to draw immediate fire and distract anyone inside from the rest of the team. Rachel itched to be by his side, but her father had firmly told her to stay back. She'd resent it more if her head weren't still throbbing in time with her pulse.

She heard the shrieks of surprise from inside the room, but the press of armor-clad bodies in front of her blocked her view. When Peter shifted to his metallic form, she might as well have been standing behind a block wall for all the view she got. But she needed to see what was happening, so she stepped inside and to one side.

She had a glimpse of a manufacturing facility and row after row of the daughter-drones that had felled her father, Lorna, and Jonesy. If they'd had any doubt that they were in the right place, that glimpse would've confirmed it.

Rachel didn't see Emma Frost in the brief glimpse she had of the room, and she didn't feel psychic pressure on her shields, so she risked lowering those shields to find the screamer. Instead of the screamer, she sensed a feral, menacing intention directed at her. She turned in time to hear the wolf-like howl before a blow landed on her temple and her world went dark.

- X -

Logan heard the lupine cry, Rachel's soft grunt and the squishy thud of flesh against flesh, then the harder thud of flesh against concrete floor, and he knew someone had gotten the drop on her. He couldn't go to her -- he'd caught sight of the screamer -- no, screecher -- and launched himself toward her. Their best advantage was surprise, and he meant to make the most of it, getting to her before she could focus her power and cripple them all.

He leapt over a narrow conveyor belt as though he were a hurdler at a track meet. Only after he'd landed and taken another step did he register what lay on the belt.

"Goddamn drones," he muttered into his comlink in time with his steps.

"We have to destroy those, too," Scott responded, then Logan heard him grunt. Apparently he'd joined the battle, too -- or had it joined for him.

His words made the screecher turn. She, apparently, hadn't heard him before that despite the -- to his ears -- abominably loud squeak of his uniform armor.

Her eyes widened when she saw him, and he launched himself at her even as she opened her mouth to draw a breath.

He heard the first notes of her power as he tackled her, his momentum sending them crashing to the ground and turning her sonic scream into a cry of pain.

She tried to wrestle him, scratched at his face and eyes with her nails. He slammed his head into hers. The blow rang in his head, despite the adamantium casing on his skull, but he was already recovering while she blinked dizzily. A chop to her throat, and he sat back, confident she was out of the fight.

He turned to regard the rest of the room over the network of conveyor belts filling it. Scott and Alex were engaged with -- Logan blinked at their opponent. Given the howl and the scent, he'd expected to see a wolf-man of some sort. Instead, he saw a man who'd grown bulkier yet sleeker, his jaw elongated to show canine teeth and his fingers stretched into claws. Apparently von Roehm had more than one form when he shifted.

But Scott and Alex both had their attention on von Roehm, so Logan scanned the rest of the room.

Peter, in his metallic form, had engaged Sebastian Shaw, and the two traded thunderous blows in one corner.

He saw Kitty walking through one of the conveyor belts, obviously intent on disrupting their electronic components. A dark-skinned young man, da Costa, had turned toward her, but Logan figured she could handle herself.

That left Leland, who sat in a chair to one side, his hands resting on a silver-tipped cane, observing the proceedings with detached interest. Logan started toward him, his claws extending.

The man looked at him, and Logan felt his movement slowing. Each step became harder and harder to take, as though he'd suddenly gained several hundred pounds.

"Now, now, dear boy," the fat man said, "no need to be hasty."

Logan stumbled a step forward, then fell to one knee.

"Much better," the fat man said. "Just sit there a while and think it over."

Logan strained to get to his feet, even to straighten his spine, but it was no use. He was well and truly pinned.


	30. Chapter 30

Lorna studied the IV needle in her arm. If she were to remove it and go upstairs, maybe take a walk outside, would it upset anyone? And if it did, would she care?

It hadn't taken twenty-four hours for her to get cabin fever, even with the books McCoy had brought her. She supposed she shouldn't be surprised, since there weren't any windows in this underground infirmary.

She'd almost decided to risk whatever anger there might be when she heard the door to the lab opening. Terry, Grey's assistant, stepped into the room, a syringe in his hand.

"Taking more blood?" she asked, weary.

"Not this time." Terry put the syringe on the table beside her bed, and now Lorna could see that it contained a clear liquid.

"What, then?" She eyed the syringe nervously.

Terry grinned, and she found herself wanting to return it. The man had the best bedside manner she'd ever encountered. "Oh, this is good stuff," he said. "An antidote."

"To what?"

"The cure serum. Sorry, the suppression system. Dr. Grey doesn't like using 'cure.'" Lorna must've been gaping at him, because he nodded. "It's true. We have an antidote that can give you your power back."

"Why?"

He chuckled. "Because I worked my tail off for a few hours, and --"

"No, no," Lorna cut him off, but she couldn't help smiling at his explanation. "I meant, why are you offering it to me?"

"I asked Dr. Grey that same question. You want to know what she said?"

"You can tell me while you're giving me the shot," Lorna said. Whatever the reason, they'd decided to give it to her, and she didn't want to risk delaying them long enough that they changed their minds.

Terry grinned at her and got the paraphernalia to administer the shot. Unlike Grey, he used his hands to do it. "She said that whatever our other differences, we all agree the suppression serum shouldn't be used."

Lorna winced as the needle went into her arm. "She thinks she can buy me with this?"

Her tone didn't really have venom in it, but Terry frowned and she'd never be able to prove that he shoved the needle in a bit further than it had to go, but she'd always wonder. "Not buying anything," he snapped.

"You mean this isn't a bribe so I'll come work for her?"

"You're getting this shot 'cause it's the right thing to do." Terry bandaged the injection site.

The X-Men might think it was the right thing to do, Lorna thought, but who knew what a court would think? She pushed that thought aside even as she stretched out toward the metal surgery tray near her bed.

She rejoiced when she felt it respond, and right now she would enjoy that she had her power back.

- X -

Logan hated being immobilized -- again. First Magneto had used his power to hold him still thanks to the adamantium in his body. Now this over-stuffed popinjay held him in place with some gravity-enhancing power.

Not this time.

Logan fought to move, to do more than breathe, and even that was an effort because his lungs didn't want to expand. His teeth gritted together, and sweat ran into his eyes before he realized he'd give himself a hernia before he moved.

Panting from the exertion, he let his head fall forward both because it was less effort than holding it upright and to conceal his mouth from anyone's view. He'd just remembered there was one person gravity powers shouldn't affect.

"Pixel," he murmured, low, "you've gotta take Leland down."

She didn't answer with words, instead changing course in the middle of her dance through the conveyor belts, and Logan turned his head to the side to follow her progress. He didn't know that he'd return to his normal weight when Kitty knocked the fat guy out, but he'd be ready the moment it happened.

"Not so fast," the dark-skinned man called after Kitty. Logan watched as his skin turned as black as a black hole, a complete silhouette marred only by the whites of his eyes and the glint of teeth when he spoke.

"Behind you," Logan said into the comlink as some kind of light glowed around the walking silhouette, and he raised his hand toward Kitty.

A fiery blast erupted from the man's hand, lanced toward -- and then through -- Kitty. The fat man yelped and launched himself sideways out of his chair. "Not at me, da Costa, you imbecile!"

Then Leland stared at Kitty. A heartbeat. Another. "Fall, damn you. Why don't you fall?"

"Hard to make a phantom heavy," Kitty quipped. Finally, Leland realized that he couldn't affect Kitty, and tried to scramble out of his chair, away from her. Logan winced when Kitty grabbed Leland and shoved him down, through the floor. Only then did the dark man shut off his blast, instead opting to vault a conveyor belt and close on her.

Leland swatted at Kitty, trying to push her away, but his hands went through her intangible body, and Logan grinned his satisfaction at seeing the fat man's eyes bulging and the sweat beading on his brow.

Moments later, Leland disappeared through the floor, and Kitty turned to face da Costa.

Logan strained to get up again, and found he could move -- millimeters at a time, but he could move -- so Leland's power did fade without him to maintain it.

Good.

- X -

Blows traded by Peter and Shaw almost drowned out the sound of Logan's and Kitty's words through the comlink in Scott's ear. That wasn't his first priority, though -- his first priority was taking down von Roehm.

Just now, he and Alex circled the man, taking turns dodging strikes and striking when the opportunity arose.

Another step, and Scott saw the dark-skinned man, presumably da Costa, fire another blast at Kitty. She started forward, obviously intending to repeat her attack on him, but he raised his other hand, blasted from both of them.

Scott ducked a swipe from a claw-like hand, slammed his fist into von Roehm's kidney. The man gave a short yipe, then struck again. Alex took advantage of that opening and kicked his thigh.

From the corner of his eye, Scott saw Kitty fling her arms up to shield her face. Given the smoke rising from the melting conveyor belts, Scott guessed she was covering her face just long enough to solidify and take a breath.

But he couldn't focus on her. His opponent stumbled forward, grabbed Alex by the throat with one hand.

Scott swore silently. Now he couldn't shoot the wolflike man, not with Alex in his own blast radius. He'd have to find a way to make him drop Alex.

"Sc -- Cyclops." Urgency echoed in Kitty's voice through his comlink.

"What?" Scott snapped a kick at the lupine man. The man caught his ankle and yanked him forward, off balance.

Scott managed to turn his fall into a backward roll and get to his feet. Von Roehm was expecting that, and followed through with a kick to Scott's stomach as Kitty was saying, "I phased through the floor to get away from the hot-headed guy, and there's an entire power supply down here, generator and everything."

Scott staggered backward -- getting kicked by this man was worse than getting kicked by Logan -- and grunted, "So?"

"So something's wrong." Kitty sounded worried. "I'm no engineer, but a lot of the readouts are getting into the red zone."

Scott tried to punch von Roehm, but the bigger man blocked it and sent him flying backward. He grunted when his back hit one of the conveyor belts, and if it hadn't been for the armor in his uniform, he might've had a broken back. As it was, it took him a moment to recover, and that moment was all the lupine man needed to grab him by the throat with strong fingers.

As he felt his feet lifting the ground, Scott pried at the other man's fingers to no avail.

"Okay, now those readings are fully red. I don't think we have much time." Kitty sounded more concerned than he'd ever heard her. "If this overheats, what'll happen to all that cure serum up there?"

"See if you can figure out what's wrong, Punkin." Scott was glad for Logan's order, as he couldn't speak thanks to the viselike hand around his throat. "I'll take out the hot guy, and we'll finish this. Cyke, you joining us or what?"

Scott gave up trying to pry von Roehm's fingers loose. Across from him, Alex wasn't struggling as hard as he had been, and Scott concluded that Alex was losing oxygen. He'd have to act quickly, now, and risk hurting Alex as well. _Better hurt than dead,_ he thought.

He let his power shine in his eyes for a moment as he looked as his brother, Alex blinked and met his gaze, then nodded, once.

Scott took a breath, then bent his head as far forward as he could over the lupine man's massive hand so he was looking at the other man's torso. Alex might get caught in blowback, but the bulk of the blast should miss him.

Scott turned his power on, realized that he hadn't gotten as acute an angle as he would've preferred, and winced. _Sorry, Alex._

- X -

Finally, finally, the weight holding him down eased, and Logan lunged to his feet.

Shaw still traded blows with Peter -- only now Shaw was grinning broadly. "Keep coming," he said. "You're only helping me win."

Da Costa had turned off his blast, and now searched the aisles between conveyor belts for Kitty, a moving pitch-black silhouette. "Come out, come out, wherever you are."

Logan judged the distance between him and da Costa. He'd only have one chance, and he'd have to make it count. A twisting leap over the conveyor belts, a slice with adamantium claws, and it would be all over.

He was mid-leap when the dark man looked up and saw him. _Ah, Christ. No plan survives first contact with the enemy._

Instinctively, he covered his face with his arm. Scott had told him about the flame-resistant properties of the armor, and now he counted on it to protect his eyes. He hated having to wait for his eyes to heal -- they took longer than the rest of him and itched badly enough to make him want to claw them out again.

The stench of his own burning flesh filled his nostrils, and he could only continue forward, following the intense heat surrounding him, until he got to its source.

If he lived that long.

- X -

Von Roehm whined, a high-pitched shriek, but his grip didn't loosen. Scott increased his power, and caught a bit of movement at the edge of his vision. Alex's power coming on. A moment later, he flew backward, out of the lupine man's hand, and what little breath had been left in his lungs whooshed out of him when he landed on the floor.

Gasping for breath, Scott rubbed his chest, surprised to find his armor had been sundered, but the skin beneath remained intact. He looked past von Roehm's charred remains to Alex, and found his brother in much the same condition.

"Damn," Alex muttered, his voice raspy, and started to get up.

"Stay down." Scott ordered in a tone that brooked no opposition, and Alex sank back to the floor.

Almost before Alex was fully out of the line of fire, Scott turned his power on, aimed at the dark man currently frying Logan.

A harsh, "Dammit, Cyke," told him that Logan had felt the blast.

"Sorry," Scott said, "but you were between me and him, and you'll heal."

"Payback's a bitch," Logan grumbled, and now Scott could see that he'd fallen out of range of both his blast and da Costa's.

"Help Colossus," Scott ordered. "I've got the firebrand."

Da Costa laughed. "That's what you think, X-Man. I absorb solar energy."

"Convenient," Scott said, keeping his power aimed at the other man. "So do I."

"So we're locked in a stalemate. Until one of us gives up."

"That would be true," Scott agreed, "if that were all I do. But it's not."

Da Costa laughed again. "What else do you do that's so great?"

"Just this." Scott warped his personal space, and reappeared beside the other man.

"Dios!" Before the exclamation had ended, Scott grabbed him and warped again.

Scott recovered faster from the moment of disorientation after they reappeared in normal space, and shoved da Costa away, out of arm's reach.

The other man looked around. "Where are we?"

"Alaska. Those --" Scott pointed at the mountain range to his right -- "are the Chugach Mountains. Anchorage should be a few miles north of here, but I'm not a hundred percent accurate with my warping yet. Keep the mountains to your right, and you should find it. Or some settlement."

"Are you insane? It's Alaska. I'll freeze to death come nightfall."

"It's summer," Scott said. "Shouldn't get much below fifty overnight. You won't freeze unless you're stupid."

He warped.

- X -

Fortunately, Shaw was focused entirely on Peter, Logan thought. Using the conveyor belts for cover, he slipped past the two of them and behind Shaw.

Shaw had taunted Peter, urged him to keep hitting him, so Logan opted for a more subtle approach. He raised his fist to Shaw's back, extended his claws into the space around Shaw's kidney.

"It is about time," Peter said when Shaw stiffened. He relaxed his stance, took a half step back. "I do not like being a distraction so long."

"I've always had lousy timing," Logan told him.

"Doesn't matter how long it takes," Shaw said. "I still win."

He jerked free of Logan's claws, blood seeping from the wounds, and backhanded Peter with enough force to send him staggering back. Then he turned on Logan.

"Nice try," he said. "But I absorb kinetic energy, even a trivial little bit like the snap of your claws. Say goodnight."

"Like hell." Logan extended both sets of claws. The man might absorb kinetic energy, but what would he do with it if Logan cut his hands off?

Shaw swung at him. Logan brought one hand down to block, missed the slash with his claws. Shaw was almost of a height with him, and the only slight reach advantage came from his claws, which Shaw dodged madly to avoid. The confined space where they faced off between two conveyor belts meant that they had little room to maneuver, and that worked more to Shaw's advantage than Logan's, since Shaw could absorb the energy from the incidental contacts and use it against Logan.

Logan's claws nicked Shaw's wrist, a glancing blow, not enough to take the hand off. Shaw countered with a jab at Logan's kidney. Now Logan understood why Shaw wasn't down yet. He'd have to do something different, something Shaw wasn't expecting.

Something that didn't involve force.

His mind flashed back to the blindfighting exercise he'd led the team through a few days before, and he had the answer.

He retracted his claws.

Shaw stared at him, and Logan could see the momentary confusion in the other man's eyes.

"C'mon," Logan said. "I'm getting tired of this. Let's end it."

Shaw grinned. "Usually the winner says that, not the loser."

Logan shrugged, and Shaw swung.

Logan pivoted away from the blow and caught Shaw's wrist with his opposite hand, bringing Shaw's arm up and over in a circle, pinning his arm in the air between them. Shaw wasn't wearing armor, and Logan grinned as his fingers found the nerve in Shaw's forearm and dug in.

Shaw resisted, as Logan had expected. The other man tried to hit him with his free hand, but there was no real force behind it, and Logan blocked the swing easily.

Logan kept his fingers dug into Shaw's ulnar nerve, pressed down on the forearm he held. Shaw tried to fight the pressure, but moments later, fell to his knees, his expression confused and angry.

"Guess the winner still said it."

- X -

Scott took in the scene before him at a glance. The Hellfire Club members were unconscious or controlled -- he grinned when he recognized the pin Logan used on Shaw.

"Good work," he said. "Wolverine, coordinate the clean-up. Pixel, get me down there."

He couldn't help a cry of surprise when he felt a hand close around his foot and then the familiar sensation of falling through an object. Scott righted himself as Kitty solidified him, and looked around.

"Over here," she said, and he followed her to what appeared to be the master control panel. "See those readouts?"

He did. Dozens of gauges and dials monitoring the flow of serum, the production of the drones, and most importantly, the power supply to the assembly plant upstairs.

"I can see why you didn't want to phase it," he said.

"Too many. I couldn't short them all at the same time." Kitty sounded frustrated, and Scott thought he could detect a hint of panic in her tone. "And if this goes, the cure serum will be vaporized and get into the atmosphere, and then --"

"And then around the world." There was no telling how many mutants might be affected by it. "My God. They just didn't care, did they?"

"We'll have to find the generator and shut it off. You take the left, I'll take the right."

He didn't wait for Kitty to acknowledge his order before he began his search. The equipment took up a space about half the size of the room above, and the generator could be anywhere. The redlining gauges hovered in the back of his mind, and he wondered if this was another manifestation of the timeline trying to kill him.

If so, a part of his mind whispered to him, it was doing so in a big way.

"I think I found it," Kitty called.

"Where?"

He followed her directions until he found her staring at a raised platform containing pumps, tanks, and pipes.

"That's it." His voice sounded hollow to his own ears. "But it's not a type I'm familiar with."

"What kind of generator?" Alex's voice came through the comlink. "I've worked with several in the labs."

"Kitty, get him down here. Now."

- X -

Lorna found Jean Grey in a small, windowless room down a sterile corridor from the infirmary. This place was such a mass of contradictions, she thought, from the warm antique upper levels to the hyper-modern, efficient lower levels. A school that trained warriors. No wonder her grandfather had loved this place.

But what on earth was this room for? A bank of keyboards and other input devices sat in front of one wall, which seemed to be a giant monitor of some kind. Three chairs on casters were the only furniture, and the room was barely wide enough to accommodate them. Grey sat in one of the chairs, staring at the dark screen wall with an unfocused gaze, her hands moving over the input station with efficient grace.

"Dr. -- " Lorna began, then stopped. The formality seemed wrong now, somehow. She started again, "Jean?"

"Yes?"

"I came to thank you." She'd thought the words would be harder to say. "Both for the job offer and this." She stretched out a hand, summoned one of the metal chairs toward her.

"You're welcome." Jean sounded distracted, her hands still moving across the touch-sensitive panels.

"And to tell you I'll take it. The job. Working with you in the Secretary's office is a good thing."

"I'm sorry," Jean said, and it was the last thing Lorna had expected. Before she could reply, Jean continued, "but I don't care right now. Right now, I'm hoping my fiance doesn't die."

"What?" Lorna sat in the chair beside the other woman.

"They've defeated Shaw and his people, but there's still a danger. And I'm scared."

Jean looked as surprised to have said that as Lorna felt that she'd say it to her. "Why scared?" Lorna asked. "Grandpa said he'd never seen a finer commander than Cyclops."

"He's a master tactician and strategist," Jean said, her hands finally stilling as she turned to face Lorna. "But I don't know whether that'll do him any good at all if the universe itself is out to kill him."

"The universe?" Lorna couldn't help the skepticism that colored her tone. "That's a little excessive, don't you think?"

"Not at all," Jean answered, her words and expression both serious. "Scott should've died a few weeks ago -- he DID die then, in one timeline. This timeline, the way it was before Rachel came back to try to save him. And it's a prime timeline, so it's trying to get back to how it 'should' be. So no matter what the odds appear to be, he's always going up against time itself."

Lorna had to let that sink in for a moment before she could say, "So what are you doing here?"

"I'm making basic design notes on the fight they just had. He'll want to run the scenario again when he gets back."

Lorna barely heard the quiver in the other woman's voice on "when he gets back," and knew Jean was forcing herself to think in terms of when, not if. "He'll be back," she said, the only reassurance she could think of.

"I hope he will, but I don't know.... I've seen a life without him, seen it through Rachel, and I don't want to live that life, I don't."

Jean's vehemence made Lorna jump, and for a moment she caught a glimpse into the telepath's heart. Jean Grey loved Scott Summers, loved him with a depth and completeness that shamed her. She'd never felt that much for Alex -- never let herself feel that much, a small voice whispered in the back of her mind.

The truth of that statement rocked her. She'd always been too busy fighting for the cause -- her grandfather's cause, her cause -- to let herself love the way Jean loved. Or, that same small voice taunted, the way Alex loved her. Or had, before all of this. Another mistake she'd have to rectify. If he survived.

She forced that thought aside, and asked, "So what's the danger you mentioned?"

Jean sighed, a microscopic exhale that Lorna almost missed. "There's some kind of generator beneath the Hellfire Club's base -- among other things, it powers the manufacturing of those drones that attacked us. It's overheating, and if it blows, they're afraid the suppression serum might be released into the atmosphere. I don't have to tell you how disastrous that would be."

Lorna shuddered. "No, you don't. Wait -- a geothermal generator?"

Jean frowned, her eyes going distantly vacant the way they had been when Lorna first came into the room. Then, "Alex thinks so."

"It's not normal," Lorna said. "Grandfather helped build it."

"What's different?" Jean's voice held barely-contained urgency.

"I'm thinking." Lorna frowned, trying to remember what her grandfather had said.

"I can --" Jean began, but stopped.

"No," Lorna said. She couldn't let the other woman into her mind yet. She wasn't ready. _But are you ready for Alex to die if you don't?_

She shied away from that thought. Alex couldn't die. He wouldn't. Not if she could just remember…

- X -

"I don't think I can fix it."

Alex's words cut through Scott more cleanly than Logan's claws could've.

"We have to try," he said.

Alex glanced over his shoulder at him. "You know what Dad always said about trying."

Scott managed a grin. Barely. "Yeah, I do." He took a breath, then spoke into his comlink. "Evacuate the building. I'm sending Kitty up to help."

"Scott --" Kitty began, but he cut her off.

"I know you're a genius, but you're also the only one who can keep the others from getting hurt by the explosion, because I won't have time to warp us out and you, too. Get up there, and when the time comes, phase as many as you can."

She swallowed. "How will I know before it's too late?"

"You'll know," Scott promised. "Now go."

Kitty threw her arms around him, a fast, hard hug, then turned to climb the air upward. She paused just before her head touched the ceiling. "I'll save Rachel. I promise."

"As many as you can," Scott said, his throat tight. "Get out of here."

Resolute, he turned away from her, back to the instrument panel Alex studied.

"They really love you," Alex murmured.

"I love them. I'd die for any of them." It was the first time he'd put that feeling into words, though he'd always known it to be true.

"Just not now, okay?"

_Scott._

Jean's voice. He didn't want to share this with her, didn't want her to be with him when he died. So he took refuge behind the commander. _Busy right now, hon._

_Busy doing the wrong thing, though._

Okay, that got his attention. _What are we doing wrong?_

_Tell Alex that the generator's using both thermionic converters and thermo-tunnelling converters._

_How do you know?_

_Lorna told me._ Jean relayed the memory of what Lorna had said with the words, and Scott swatted Alex's hand down from the control he'd been about to adjust.

"What the --?"

"You need to know it's using both thermionic and thermo-tunnelling converters," Scott said, then relayed the rest of what Jean had shared. "Lorna says Magneto helped build this generator, and tweaked it. It's also capturing pure hydrogen and oxygen for other uses." He took a breath. "Which means that my power's the last thing we want to use here."

"Oh, I don't know," Alex said. "It might be interesting to see a fireball at close range."

"You have a different definition of interesting than I do."

Alex ignored him, instead studying the generator. "I don't think we can destroy the whole thing at once. I can get the generator, but we also should vaporize the serum, just in case."

"Didn't we just say my power could vaporize in a bad way?"

Alex let out a breath. "We're going to have to risk it. If you can irradiate the serum with a concentrated blast, then I can take care of the generator without worrying about the serum going atmospheric."

_Jean? Irradiating the serum -- good idea or bad idea?_

She was quiet for a moment, and he could feel her thinking. _Can you manage a high-level dose in just a second or two, like a camera flash?_

_I can do that._

He felt her mental nod. _That should render it inert._

Scott nodded, tense. "Hold on to me. If things go weird, I'm porting us out of here."

"We're not that close, Scotty." But Alex grabbed his hand. "I'd say go as hot as you can immediately, just to flash-burn the serum. Then I'll go for the generator."

He opened the visor, allowing it to control the focus and dispersion of his beam. He couldn't see the radiation emitting from his eyes, but he could sense it, somehow, and raised and lowered his gaze enough to bathe the entire vat several times over. The initial burst should've neutralized it, if he'd understood Jean's thought correctly, but he wanted to be certain.

"And... done. Your mark."

"Three. Two. One. Mark." Scott turned in time to see the generator begin to vibrate, shaking under the force of Alex's power.

For long moments, the only sound was the generator straining to continue operating even as it shuddered. Then it shattered into thousands of tiny pieces that fell to the ground like metallic snow.

"You can let go now," Alex said. "It's done."

Some instinct kept his hand wrapped around his brother's. Maybe it was the eerie resemblance to the hail of shrapnel after the fight at the Bradbury Building, although they were well clear of the generator's debris. Or maybe it was just an overabundance of caution.

"Let go, Scott." Alex yanked at his hand the way he had when they were children and Scott had tried to keep his younger brother from running after everything and everyone caught his interest.

"Not yet. It's not over yet."

Scott barely registered the glint, the spark of metal against metal.

"Yes, it --" Alex broke off when he saw the fire begin, floating in mid-air over where the generator had stood. "Fire!"

The fireball exploded outward, and Scott reached for the deeper part of his power, and just as he felt the first touch of flame, the room disappeared around them.

- X -

The world re-formed around them. Behind them, the mansion the Hellfire Club had used stood engulfed in flames.

"That's -- weird," Alex said. "Really weird."

"Dad!" Rachel's joyous cry was the sweetest sound Scott had heard in a long time. He grinned at her where she stood leaning against Logan for support, and opened his arms when she took the steps toward him for a hug. "Thank God you're alive."

"We all are," Scott agreed, releasing her so she could hug Alex in turn. He found himself face to face with Logan.

"Your daughter sure didn't learn how to kiss from you," Logan observed, low enough that nobody else heard him.

"Most people would think that's a good thing," Scott countered.

Logan snorted. "Still a dick, too."

"So you think you've won." Shaw's derisive tone made Scott turn. "And perhaps you have, but only for a moment."

"This isn't about you or me, Shaw," Scott said. "It's about how mutants as a group are going to be treated by everyone else --"

Shaw snorted. "Mutants aren't a class by themselves. There's a difference between a kid with a tail and what you and I are."

"No," Scott said, "there's not. Not in the eyes of non-mutants, and not where it really matters."

"You really believe that?" Shaw demanded.

"Yes, I do," Scott said. "We're mutants, whatever our ability, and we all deserve the same treatment from everyone else."

"Believe that if you want to," Shaw sneered. "We'll see what happens."

"Yes," Scott said simply. "We will."

"Let me cut his throat," Logan said.

"Tempting," Scott said, "but no." Scott looked around. Somehow, Kitty had gotten most of the Hellfire Club out, along with the X-Men, and they lay or sat in various stages of awareness. Someone had produced zip-ties -- Scott would bet that had been Logan -- and Peter and Alex were securing the ones who were unconscious. Then he frowned. "Where are Frost and Wyngarde?"

"No idea," Logan said. "I haven't scented 'em, and Rachel hasn't sensed 'em. Either dead or gone."

"I'd bet on gone," Scott said. "We never saw Frost, remember."

"Gone, but how far?" Kitty asked. "Either of them could release these guys."

"So we stay until the police arrive," Scott said.

"You can't prove anything," Shaw said.

"Somebody can," Scott countered. "Starting with the firemen."

"I hear sirens. Maybe they respond faster in ritzy areas." Logan looked at Shaw. "Guess you get to live another day."

"And we get to wait for the cops," Kitty said from where she'd sat on the ground to rest.

"Part of the job," Scott told her.

"Boring part," Kitty muttered.

"You don't know what you've done," Shaw said.

"Actually, I do." Scott turned away from Shaw to rejoin his team -- his family.

"So," Kitty said. "We're out two Blackbirds now. How're we getting home?"

- X -

In the end, even though Scott grumbled that it was "Like calling to say I wrecked the car, and can you come pick me up?" he called his father.

At least, Alex thought, his father hadn't chosen to fly the Huey himself. Alex looked out the canopy at the grounds of the Xavier School fast approaching. "Home," Kitty had called it, but it wasn't his home. His home had been in Arizona, with Lorna. Where was it now?

The Huey turned a tight circle and set down in the center of the circular drive in front of the mansion, and Alex saw a knot of people at the top of the porch steps. _Welcome the triumphant heroes home,_ he thought wryly, then winced with shame. They'd done good work that day, even if it would never be officially acknowledged.

And he and Scott had discovered they were each immune to the other's powers. It bothered Alex that he thought that knowledge might come in useful someday -- and that he could almost visualize the circumstances of that use.

But those were thoughts for other, darker, days that he hoped would never come. Today was a day of rejoicing in the satisfaction of having fought -- and won -- the good fight, and he took a breath, let it out, willing his darker thoughts out with his breath.

Then the Huey was down, and it was his turn to disembark. Scott stood in Jean's embrace, wind from the rotors whipping her hair around them. Logan and Rachel stood together to one side of Scott and Jean, and Peter and Kitty were talking with a few of the other students.

"Alex."

The voice barely carried over the roar of the rotors, but he'd know it anywhere. Lorna. He turned to see her holding her hair in place with one hand, concern in his expression. "Lorna."

"Are you all -- what happened to your chest?" She stepped forward, reached out her free hand as though to touch him, then thought better of it.

"Nothing," he said. Then, at her dubious expression, he amended it to, "Nothing serious."

"It cut through your armor. But if you're sure...?"

The shift in the Huey's engines as it lifted off again cut off whatever other question she might have asked. When the air was still and silent again, Alex said, "Scott told me you're the one who told us how to stop the overload. Thank you."

"It was the right thing to do. Alex --" she broke off, glanced at the crowd still gathered. Now Jean was hugging Rachel and looking at her with a doctor's concern, not a mother's, but nobody seemed to be paying attention to them. Still, Lorna stepped a few paces away, and Alex followed.

"You were right, Alex."

"About what?"

"I had to remember who the good guys were. I forgot, for a while." Finally, she let the hand holding her hair drop, and Alex thought she'd kept it where it was so long for lack of knowledge what to do with it otherwise.

"You know now?" Alex asked cautiously.

"Jean's offered me a position on her staff if she's confirmed as Secretary of Mutant Affairs." Lorna's words came in a rush, and for a moment he wasn't certain he'd understood her.

"She has?" Alex hadn't intended to sound so disbelieving, but asking Lorna to join that staff didn't sound like the most diplomatic choice Jean could make.

"I didn't believe it at first, either, and when she asked, it made Secretary McCoy green -- which was more like turquoise, considering his blue skin." Lorna chuckled softly, and Alex smiled at the image. "But she said she wants opposing viewpoints. She thinks they'll help her make better decisions. At least we'll be heard."

"I'm glad," Alex said, and meant it.

"There's only one problem."

"What's that?"

"Taking the job means moving to Washington. Away from you." Lorna's last words were so quiet Alex almost didn't hear them.

"Does that matter? Really?"

"It does. Really. I hadn't realized how much I love you until I thought you were leaving forever." Lorna took a shaky breath, and Alex could see tears glistening in the corners of her eyes. "I'm sorry, Alex. I know it doesn't make everything better, but maybe it's a start?"

Did he want it to be a start? Alex closed his eyes for a moment, listening. In the end, there was only one answer he could give. "Maybe it is."

- X -

_Thank God you're alive._ Jean held Scott close, reveling in his physical touch even more than his mental. But she couldn't hold him too long, not when her daughter needed medical attention.

So she reluctantly let go of Scott and turned to Rachel, who still leaned against Logan, opening her shields to sense her daughter's injuries.

_Just a headache,_ Rachel sent, but she didn't object to the telepathic examination.

_And a nasty contusion on your forehead._ Jean touched the spot lightly, felt Rachel's instinctive shying away from it. _I'd like to do a CAT scan and MRI just to be safe._

Rachel gave a mental assent, and Jean smiled and started to withdraw from her daughter's mind.

_No, don't go. Please._

Jean felt the anxiety, almost desperation, in Rachel's request and focused on the link again. _Okay. Something wrong?_

_No, not wrong._ Rachel smiled. _It's just you feel like Mom again._

Jean pulled her daughter close, mentally and physically, invited Scott and Logan into the link. _We're a family._

Logan, of course, had to snort. _Just don't expect me to call you Mom and Dad._


	31. Chapter 31

3

(Epilogue)

Scott had dropped his wrench when he felt Jean's first contraction through their link.

_I'll be right there,_ he'd sent to her, but she'd objected, saying, _No, not yet, One contraction isn't anything. Wait until they're about four minutes apart. It could be hours._

So he'd returned to working on the new Blackbird, enjoying the satisfaction of seeing tangible results of his efforts as he installed the equipment and software that would make the Blackbird truly the X-Men's machine.

"Dad? Shouldn't you be in the infirmary?"

Scott chuckled and tightened the last bolt on the radar array assembly. "She told me not to bother showing up until the contractions are more frequent."

He turned to face Rachel, frowned at her expression. "You don't look happy."

She took a breath. "I came -- I came to say goodbye."

"Goodbye?" Scott fought to keep his surprise from bleeding through the link. The last thing Jean needed right now was upsetting news. "You're leaving?"

"No," Rachel said quickly. Scott read nervousness and fear in the lines of her body. "I mean, I don't want to. But -- when the baby's born, maybe I'll just vanish, and I wanted to say goodbye, because I love you and I'm glad I met you and --"

He was by her side in seconds, enveloping her in a tight hug. He heard her soft breaths, the ones that meant she was trying not to cry.

Scott understood the feeling. He'd spent the last months reading everything he could find on theories of time travel, parallel universes, and other weirdnesses in quantum physics. None of what he'd found could help him determine whether or not they'd succeeded in changing Rachel's timeline.

"I don't know what'll happen," Scott told her quietly. "But whatever happens, I'll always be glad I met you. I love you."

She chuckled, a watery sound. "You're so comforting."

He smiled though she couldn't see it. "Lying to a telepath is a bad idea. Even social lies."

"I suppose." Rachel didn't seem to be in any hurry to change her position. When she finally spoke, her voice was so low Scott almost missed the words. "I don't want to die like this."

"Nobody wants to die, period," Scott said.

"It would be good if I did, wouldn't it? It would mean the timeline's changed."

He couldn't lie. "It would mean the timeline's changed, but it wouldn't be good if you did."

She held him tighter. "I love you, Dad, and I don't want to lose you just as I've gotten to know you."

For the first time in more years than he could remember, Scott didn't straighten up his work area before leaving it. Rachel needed him more than wrenches and screwdrivers needed to be put away.

Finally, the contractions came more frequently. Then Scott scrubbed the grease from his hands and changed out of the coveralls he'd worn while working on the Blackbird, and later while talking to Rachel. At least, he thought, Jean hadn't taken his suggestion to use their old room in the mansion seriously.

Now, he held tight to Jean's hands as she breathed through her contractions. He kept an image of the lake by moonlight in his mind, pushed it forward, so she'd have a relaxing image to focus on when she wanted it. He murmured softly to her, encouraging comforting words that he forgot as soon as he said them. He'd offered to take as much of the labor pains as she wanted to give him through the link, but she'd shaken her head.

"It doesn't work that way," she'd said. "You can feel what I feel, but I can't transfer it to you."

"I can see the crown," their midwife, Elena Marquez, said. "We're almost done."

Scott felt Jean's relief through their link, and asked, _Can I watch?_

_Thought you didn't want to see the gross stuff,_ she sent back. Even her mental voice sounded tired.

_Well, maybe a little._ He squeezed her hands one last time, and shifted position so he could see their child being born.

Elena cleaned mucus away from the baby's mouth and nose, and Scott said, "She's beautiful already, Jean. Dark hair, though."

"Most babies have dark hair when they're born," Elena told him. "It might lighten up."

"Or turn a rich red," Scott said. He knew the rest of the birth would happen quickly, so he didn't look away. The shoulders appeared, and then the rest of the body almost immediately. Scott blinked, frowned. Had he seen what he thought he'd seen? No, he couldn't have. It was just a trick of the light, or maybe a part of the umbilical cord.

Wasn't it?

With skilled hands, Elena wiped the baby clean and placed it on Jean's body. "Not crying," Elena said, "but breathing's regular, so I think everything's okay."

"Don't you need to cut the cord?" Scott asked.

"Not yet," Elena said. "I prefer to let babies adapt to the world outside mom for a few minutes before I cut the cord."

"Welcome to the world, baby girl," Jean murmured.

_Jean, I'm not sure --_

Elena's chuckle interrupted his psychic thought. "Oh, no, Mrs. Summers. It's a boy."

X X X X X

And so we come to the end of this journey… Thanks for taking the ride with me. All of your comments and encouragement made my day. Every day.

See you on the next ride!


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